Love Born of Murder
by Sudonim
Summary: Hot Fuzz SLASH The story of PC Nicholas Angel and PC Liam Nash, aka Sergeant Deskjob, and how they danced with protocol.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Love Born of Murder (1/5)

RATING: PG-13

PAIRING: Nicholas Angel/Met Sergeant

SUMMARY: The story of a relationship. This chapter occurs in 1997, with Nicholas, 25, four years out of school and Liam, 22, just starting at the Met. The story takes place over the ten-year span leading up to the events in "Hot Fuzz."

NOTES: I'll always name Martin Freeman's character Liam Nash. ALWAYS. It's just my interpretation of his character. 3

"CONSTABLE!" someone screamed in his ear, making his head snap up so rapidly he saw stars.

Sleeping at his desk again. Lovely. That was sure to put a good spin on his upcoming performance review. Not that anyone had seen him, really; his desk was hidden in one of the smallest offices on the floor, and despite the privilege of having four actual walls to call his own, he would have preferred to be on the floor with the other newbies.

Better than sharing a cramped office with such an uptight prat, leastways.

Police Constable Nicholas Angel, top marks, best performance record, first in his class. His side of the office was covered with awards, all framed and hung in neat rows, his desk immaculate, without a single bit of clutter. He came to work half an hour early and left whenever his job was done, however long it took.

His partner on the other hand, Police Constable Liam Nash, was a human being. He wasn't the best in his class, or the fastest on the track, or the quickest or most accurate with written material, and he'd comfortably managed to graduate in the top ten percent of his class, but that was all. He had a newspaper clipping about a midget being accidentally swallowed by a hippo tacked to his wall beside a calendar from 1995, making it a good two and a half years old.

He had just graduated from University of Leeds, majoring in criminal justice and international studies, taking a job at the Met instead of going on to graduate school like his mother had asked of him before she died. He didn't want to be a lawyer, and no woman six years dead was going to steer his life, especially when she wasn't helping pay the rent.

Someone upstairs obviously hated him, though, partnering him with the most uptight cop on the force.

"He's a good influence," Sergeant Evan Barclay had told him when he'd first appealed the decision.

"But I don't _need_ an influence…sir," Liam protested, almost forgetting the honorific.

"You should be glad to have a partner at all," Barclay continued, ignoring him. "Most of the new lads are jockeying until we find beats willing to take them. Besides, Constable Angel requested you specifically."

Liam's eyes went wide in shock and disbelief.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"It seems one of your professors contacted him," Barclay said, flipping open Liam's file, turning the pages gingerly. "A Gregory Bobbish, it appears, had a phone conference with Constable Angel three weeks before your arrival and asked him to take you under his wing. Apparently, Bobbish knows the Constable's family in some way, so he felt obliged to tutor you."

"But I _don't need_ any…tutoring or coddling, or…or whathaveyou," Liam snapped, agitated by the term 'tutor.' He'd done his time behind a desk. Now was his time on the street, in the action and thick of it, getting his hands dirty and catching the 'bad guys.'

"Listen, Liam," Barclay said, changing his tone and pushing the paperwork aside, "I know Nicholas is difficult, but…we think a partner would be good for him, and there really are no other perspective officers at the moment, so do us a favor and try to tough it out, would you? You can make an official appeal for reassignment in ninety days."

"_Ninety days?"_ Liam repeated, panic now making his voice almost squeak. "With all respect, Sergeant, he'll have killed me by then!"

Smiling, Barclay quipped, "Well, you'd better learn to defend yourself, Constable."

It had been two weeks and four days since then; fifty-two days to go. Liam was ticking them off on his outdated calendar, pretending June was _supposed_ to start on a Tuesday, and even if it didn't, it wasn't really his fault.

Peering up at Constable Angel through sleep-wear eyes, Liam tried to stifle a yawn; the last time he'd yawned in his partner's presence, he'd been given an all-day lecture on proper form in the field.

"I can't help that you work _insane_ hours," Liam had shot. As his partner, Liam was forced to remain at his station until they'd both finished. Needless to say, he was a master of documentation and was developing a lovely cramp in his right hand.

"It is your responsibility to be well-rested," Angel snapped at him. "You could at least get _that_ right, Constable."

He always called him 'Constable.' It was to the point where, in moments of complete zombie-ism, Liam actually believed it to be his only name, as if his mother and father hadn't any part in the business, and it was really Constable Angel who'd hatched him from a test tube and spoon-fed him a story about growing up in Manchester and having a strange affinity for guppies, The Beatles, and the color yellow.

This time was shaping up to be worse than the last three or four Angel had caught him at, what with the terrifying glower on his face making him look as near to demonic as any mortal being could.

"I believe, _Constable_," Angel said slowly, his jaw clenched, "we've discussed this _issue_ of your sleeping patterns in the past. I should like to think that, somewhere in that daft head of yours, there is a brain conducting some sort of business, and not just a small dog chasing after its own tail. I have been more than patient-"

"You've been a right prat," Liam mumbled to himself, truly believing Angel wouldn't hear it.

He was dead wrong, of course.

"_Excuse_ me, Constable," Angel spat, slamming his hands down on Liam's desk and leaning menacingly over him, "but I hardly think you're in the position to be doling out criticism. I have gone out of my way to accommodate your lack of exuberance in the matter of _our job_, but it seems you've no heart for it. Now, I realize you may find my standards a bit high for someone of your…_caliber_…but I am rather fond of my work, and I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same, or _get out_ of _my_ office!"

"_Your_ office?" Liam laughed in his face, getting on his feet in record time. "Listen here, you silly twat, I was _assigned_ to your sorry arse, and anybody who tells you different is as daft as the day they were born! And I'd rather I wasn't in here, either, if you really want to know, but nobody else will have you."

"You say that as if you had a choice," Angel scoffed, turning away and heading to his desk, opening the middle drawer of his filing cabinet and drawing out a folder. He tossed it at Liam with a flourish.

"What's this, then?" Liam asked, looking at the folder in his arms and then back at Angel, who gave him the same old stoic expression as always.

"You may not excel in the field, Nash, but I know you can read," he bit at him.

Allowing Angel a gratuitous glower, he tossed the folder on his messy desk, letting it fall open to reveal some very old letters and a series of photographs of a young woman.

Realization crashed over him like a tidal wave of frigid water, his hands trembling slightly as he touched the picture on top of the stack, taking in the image as his fingers gingerly traced the outline of its composition.

"I've been on that case for over a year, now," Angel said, his voice somewhat softer than usual, though still as professional as ever, despite the circumstances. "Mr. Bobbish sought me out on your behalf. I assumed from your transcript and his recommendation, however, that you were a more…satisfactory candidate."

"This…I shouldn't be working on this…," Liam fumbled, eyes flickering up to meet Angel's as he sorted through the documentation. "This is twelve shades of wrong as far as protocol is concerned, Constable."

"And I suppose you'll be the one to ask for a transfer, then?" Angel retorted, making Liam consider him solidly, trying to push aside his prejudice.

He wanted this case. He wanted it _badly_. He knew that neither he nor Angel had the power to outright run this case, but with Angel as the officer in charge, it meant access, it meant involvement, it meant…

It meant justice, personal and public.

"I never thought you capable of something like this, Constable," Liam smirked, lovingly running his fingers over the photograph one last time before flipping the folder shut and coming around his desk to hand it, almost reverently, back to Angel.

"I have my reasons," Angel replied, sliding the folder carelessly onto his desk. "But I will ask of you, Constable, that you put forth more effort in the future. I cannot have you slowing me down. In the long term, it will be beneficial to you as well, in case you need further motivation, I suppose."

"Fine," Liam replied quickly, "but I need you to do me a favor."

"What's that?" Angel asked tentatively, squinting his eyes a bit and giving Liam a calculating look.

"Would you call me Liam for Christ's sake?" he laughed. "Or at least Nash, or something. I feel like I'm stuck in a fucking queue from the moment I get to work."

Angel considered for a moment, sighing to himself as he looked Liam over, most likely displeased beyond words.

"Fine," Angel said, his turn to use the forceful, one-word come-back. "I'm still Constable Angel to you, though, unless…unless you _really_ think Nicholas is appropriate."

"I've no measure for appropriations," Liam chuckled, forgetting himself and clapping Angel on the shoulder, only to receive another icy glare. He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly as he lowered his hand.

The six-inch, scale model clock replica of Big Ben on Liam's clock suddenly chimed out the hour dolefully; 9PM.

"Bloody hell," Liam groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "It's fantastically late, and I've not started…And you're probably…Do you have a spare pen, maybe?"

"I took care of it," Angel replied, making Liam's jaw drop dramatically. "You were sleeping, Con – _Liam_…And despite what you may think, I've no intention of wasting time by letting you use our records as drool receptacles. It's just not sanitary."

"Nicholas, you cheeky bastard," Liam smiled, shaking his head. "I owe you, really. And here I thought you really were a soulless wanker."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow and managed to find the musculature in his face to deepen his frown, Liam clapping a hand over his mouth as he realized the content of the words spilling out of it.

He was young and _incredibly_ stupid, it seemed.

"I expect to see you tomorrow at 9AM sharp," Nicholas said coldly, and had Liam thought more of him, he'd have seen he was hurt.

"Very good," Liam nearly chirped. He was feeling much more optimistic about work now, what with the contents of that file folder prodding at his brain more fervently every moment. "And I suppose we're going for a run before we start?"

"Bring your trainers," Nicholas confirmed, nodding curtly; their shift didn't start until 10:30.

Liam's head was a convoluted mash of thoughts as he jogged through the main lobby. It was five minutes to 9, and despite a restless evening, he'd found no difficulty in getting up at 8 to make the long trek to work on his bicycle, his knapsack especially heavy that morning.

He could see Nicholas studying a pamphlet of some nondescript nature on one of the long benches lining the length of the walls, set before a large, semi-transparent map of the greater London metropolitan area.

"Morning," he said softly as he trotted over to Nicholas, despite the fact that the extreme echo in the lobby made it impossible for Nicholas to have missed his arrival. He was trying to be polite, however.

"Good morning, Const – Liam," Nicholas replied, picking up a bag similar to Liam's as he stood, tucking his reading material away and slinging the pack onto his shoulders. It was obvious that they were going to keep the extra weight for the run.

"Quick question," Liam broke in, instinctively grabbing Nicholas's upper arm to stop him, ignoring the Constable's reproachful countenance as he spoke.

"Why did you listen to Bobbish?" he pressed; the question had been driving him mad all night, when he wasn't sleeping fitfully. "Just because he asked…There's got to be more than that."

"I have my reasons," Nicholas replied, clearly unwilling to be more expressive on the matter.

"Well, I hope you can tell me some day," Liam replied, his words carrying complete sincerity.

For the first time, he felt obligated to make Nicholas like him, _really like him_, no matter what that took. He owed it to him, in all honesty, for letting him work with him. Sure, up until that point it'd been a hardship, but the circumstances were different now. Plus Angel – Nicholas – was suddenly proving he was a human being, too, despite the nasty rumors circulating in the ether.

If it meant getting up at 8AM, he could do it. If it meant running for half an hour with a bag full of rocks strapped to his back, he could do that, too. And if it meant struggling to form some sort of relationship with possibly the thorniest gent he'd ever encountered, he'd sure as shit give that a shot, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Of all the places to be on the Eve of the new millennium, the last one Liam predicted he'd be when the idea first gained definition in his mind as a young man was sitting at a desk in the tiniest office of the largest precinct in London, with the most disagreeable partner God had ever had the misjudgment to breath life into.

Two years of early-morning runs, endless patrols, terse conversation, and awkward proximity had left Liam with a strangely empty feeling. He spent more time with Nicholas Angel than any other person _in his entire life_, that is when he averaged out hours together versus length of acquaintance. Yet he knew relatively little about his coworker, save that he enjoyed gardening and preferred black ink to blue, and that he hated Liam's cute little pen holder, a maneki neko, which he purposely faced toward Nicholas upon learning that it agitated him.

"Liam, you coming?" asked Kelsey Munsel, barging into the office and letting the door crash against the wall, making Liam flail in surprise. The gentle tinkling of porcelain and the rattling of free-range writing implements told Liam that his disturbingly cute cat-shaped pen holder had just met its demise on the far side of his desk.

He glanced over at Kels for a moment, catching a glimpse of Nicholas across the office, and was glad that his old friend from university couldn't see the horrifying glare being directed at his intrusion. Any person in the miniscule office without a work-related excuse was likely to be executed via death stare, courtesy of the unapproachable constable.

"We're going to the Balckfriar's in a tick," Kels continued, still oblivious, a mischievous smile playing across his face. Liam was always fascinated by the way light seemed to dance in his friend's eyes when he was excited, and now was no exception, his tousled blond hair indicating that some of the lads on the floor must have snuck some brandy into work.

The reserved look on Liam's face made Kels's exuberance falter, releasing his hold on the doorframe, which he'd been leaning through, and took a couple hesitant steps into the room. He caught himself on the second step, the reptilian portion of his brain sensing danger, and he gave Nicholas a wary glance; even with his head bowed, it was obvious that Nicholas wasn't thinking too hard about his paperwork, and instead was most likely formulating ways of inducing pain on the young intruder.

"You are coming, right?" Kels asked, turning back to Liam.

Liam opened his mouth to respond, but catching another scathing glance from Nicholas, this time directed at _him_, he knew there was no way of shirking his evening patrol.

"_Liam_," Kels sighed, leaning over his friend's desk, getting in his face, "There is _no way_ you are missing out on tonight. It's been ages since you've come out with us, and the lads are starting to think you've taken up a bad habit."

He meant Nicholas. All three of them knew it.

"Besides," Kels continued, pretending he couldn't hear Nicholas shifting in his seat behind him, "It's not like you'll be seeing another millennium any time soon, mate. This is once in every few dozen lifetimes! Once every _thousand_ years! There's no way you're missing out."

"Constable Nash," Nicholas broke in from across the office. He was on his feet, his jacket slung over his shoulder, giving Liam a decisive stare.

Kels frowned darkly as Nicholas rounded the desk, stopping a foot from Liam's desk, which was still closer than the two men wanted to be at any given moment. Glancing at the analog clock on the wall, Liam realized it was 9:30. They had a four hour circuit starting at 10. And bollocks if he wasn't dreading it already.

"Sorry, mate," Liam sighed, barely daring to make eye contact with Kels, as he hastily got up and grabbed his own jacket and hat.

Coming around his desk, Nicholas was already out the door, leaving Kels and Liam to follow, and as they came out onto the floor, Kels grabbed Liam's arm and drew him aside.

"Listen, Liam," Kels murmured, still holding Liam captive with a strong hand on his arm, "Nicholas Angel is bad business. Everyone here knows that. _You_ know that. Didn't you ever wonder why he doesn't have a partner? Why he's such a hard-ass? Why he's obviously turning _you_ into his fucking protégé?"

"I admit he's not the most amiable person," Liam said with difficulty, glancing toward Nicholas's rapidly retreating form. "But he's-"

"What? He's what?" Kels pressed, getting frustrated. "Your partner? So what? He's not your friend, Liam. _I_ am. Wakeman is. Holbech, Bathe, Stetson, McCain, _they're_ your friends, not this bloody ponce. He's going to ruin you! He already has."

Liam cocked his head slightly, glaring up at Kels and gritting his teeth; what the hell did Munsel know about it, anyway? He couldn't understand the glue holding him to Nicholas, the unspoken bond that had been forced on him, on both of them, their last line of cohesion when Liam pushed every other one of Nicholas's buttons.

"Listen, Kels," Liam said darkly, his free hand grabbing Kels's opposing shoulder, his intention to leave a bruise if at all possible, "I understand your concern, but it's really none of your sodding business. You're my friend, not my mum, and the last thing I need is somebody trying to push themselves on me like they have a bloody clue what I should or should not do with _my fucking life_, so if you'll _excuse_ me, I've a beat to patrol."

He tried to pull away from Kels, but the grip on his arm was stronger than he'd imagined. A moment later, though, he was pulled into the most awkward of hugs, his body trapped between his friend's chest and the wall behind him.

"I'm not trying to push you," Kels muttered against his shoulder, sighing as he pulled away, "I'm trying to pull you back, mate. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Hurt?" Liam repeated, a confused look on his face. "You act like I've a crush on him."

Kels raised an eyebrow and bit back a laugh, shaking his head slightly and clearing his fringe from his eyes. In the distance, Liam could see that Nicholas had doubled back, giving him a concerned look from the stairs, apparently torn between hounding Liam and giving him his space.

Suddenly, Kels's mouth was almost against his ear, his head bowed, making Liam's body go stiff and forcing him to recoil. The hand still on his arm held him close enough to barely catch Kels's words:

"Your partner," he breathed, the words tickling Liam's ear, "His uncle, mum's brother, was a cop, just like him, all work and no play, no smiles, no friends. They got him, Derek Seward, on drug charges, but they never would have caught on in the first place…if he hadn't murdered someone first."

"What was all that?" Nicholas asked as they left the station, breaking his usual mode of silence.

"Sorry?" Liam replied, feeling severely flustered, Kels's words still lingering like a bad aftertaste.

"Constable Munsel, what was he doing?" Nicholas repeated, his tone hardly hinting at the curiosity Liam knew to be there.

"Just…talking," Liam bluffed, feeling his cheeks go red and hoping that Nicholas would play it off to the cold.

"He seemed to be getting rather friendly," Nicholas wheedled, actually looking at him for once as he spoke. "It obviously bothered you. It should be reported if it keeps up, Liam."

Liam was shocked. Nicholas was concerned? And using his first name? There was something amiss here, something not quite right, and the moment called for some witty comeback that Liam really didn't feel he could concoct with his brain so addled.

"He broke my cat," Liam redirected, fiddling with his hat, which suddenly felt oddly heavy. "I'm pretty sure that's bad luck.

"Thank God," he barely heard Nicholas mutter.

"I'll be sure the next one I get is _huge_," Liam taunted. "Size of your over-inflated ego, constable."

"Excuse me?" Nicholas shot, his eyebrows nearly melding with his hair line as he managed to form a smile. "I haven't a clue what you're on about, constable. The only religion I prescribe to is humility, and you'd do well with some of the same."

"See? D'you see the ego?" Liam cut in, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "You're saying you're better than me by comparing us and putting me in a worse light. You're saying-"

"-That I am better than you, yes," Nicholas cut him off, nodding his head in agreement. "Actually, what I was saying, constable, was that each of us has room for improvement, and my way is simply in believing that principle to be omnipotent."

"Egotistical bastard," Liam niggled, noticing the edges of Nicholas's mouth betray him with a quick smile.

Their walk that night would take them along the Thames in possibly the best patrol of the evening for both sightseeing and volume of incidents, which was precisely why they'd been assigned that beat. There was a guaranteed menagerie of tomfoolery that most teams just wouldn't be able to cope with, but Angel and Nash had such a solid record that they were continually given harder and harder assignments, as if they were being _tested_ more than anything.

"You feel like popping into the Blackfriar's, just to give the lads a shock?" Liam asked when they stopped for a moment outside the Temple Gardens at 11:10. There'd been a report of a pickpocket in the premises, and after a quick stroll around the perimeter and speaking to a slightly sloshy group of young ladies, who'd become a bit too enamored with Liam, they'd decided to post for a bit in hopes of finding a lead.

"Fraternization," was Nicholas's one-word reply. "Besides, we are _working_, constable. This is not a social club. The Met is a place of business, law enforcement, public protection. It is our task to ensure the safety of all civilians, not to mingle with them."

"Change the fucking record," Liam groaned, gesticulating angrily at Nicholas before letting his arms fall heavily to his sides.

He turned, pacing up and back along the sidewalk, a gaggle of teens wearing a gratuitous amount of glow-necklaces and bracelets crashing into him and nearly knocking him down, which he did his best to ignore. Nicholas remained stoic, watching his partner with curiosity and a hint of amusement, until he finally caught Liam's arm on his next pass.

Liam froze and met Nicholas's intense stare. It was completely against Angel's formal nature to make physical contact, and the fact that he was touching him at all made Liam almost laugh, totally taken aback.

"Calm down, constable," Nicholas said coolly.

Liam really did laugh this time, shaking off Nicholas's hand. He looked away, sticking his tongue out slightly and pressing the tip to his upper lip, his hands on his hips as he tried to hold himself in check.

"Two years," he said, glancing up at Nicholas as he had at Kels not more than two hours ago. "Two years, and what've we got to show, eh? Is it impossible for you to be friendly? To make conversation? Because Lord knows I've given this dead horse more than its fair share of time to graze. I'm not asking you to move in with me, mate, I'm asking you to call me _Liam_, and to stop constantly quoting procedure. I read the book! I passed the entrance exam! I've been working with _you_ for _TWO YEARS_. Even if I hadn't known it, I certainly would by now, even-"

"-Is this about Munsel?" Nicholas cut in, his cold eyes giving a glimmer of emotion as he pushed down what he really meant to ask.

Liam's jaw worked for a moment but nothing came out. His hands shook, and he balled them into fists, a horrible urge to choke Nicholas rising more and more strongly to the surface.

"You fucking pilchard," he growled, letting his left fist make a restrained jab at Nicholas's chest before turning away, embarrassed by his outburst.

Nicholas was stunned. Nobody, _nobody_ had ever struck him in that manner. He'd been cuffed by old ladies, punched by drug addicts, kicked in the shins by small children, and slapped on the ass by drunken teens. This, though, was another officer, his partner, voicing his frustration in the only way he knew that Nicholas would listen. He was angry, to be sure, but the self-control proved something else: That he didn't mean to hurt him.

That…that was new…

Liam was already a block away, though, walking fast in the torrent of traffic filling the popular thoroughfare, making Nicholas jog to catch him. He saw Liam tense slightly as he caught up, but he hung a step behind him, waiting for Liam to address him first, when he felt ready.

"Yes, this is about Munsel," Liam snapped suddenly, turning on his heel with no warning, so that Nicholas crashed into him and stumbled back. On the crowded sidewalk, people were quick to glare, holding back only because the two men were clad in police garb.

Grabbing Nicholas's elbow, Liam drew him out of the flow and onto the stoop of a private business, some sort of law office, that had apparently boarded up their windows for the evening in anticipation of drunken revelry.

"My friends care about me," Liam said, sounding far sappier than he'd hoped, "But you…despite everything we've been through, I don't think you'd wince if I got shot in the head by some sodding grafter."

"S'not true," Nicholas said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head.

"Well, I've never seen _any_ evidence to the contrary," Liam scoffed. "I know fuck-all about you, Nicholas. How would you _expect_ me to know? Your damnable over-adherence to protocol alienates everyone. You didn't even tell me about-"

He stopped, fearing he'd said too much, seeing the realization dawn on Nicholas's face. He felt an urge to run, his legs frozen despite his mind's attempt to move them, sensing something sinister mounting in Nicholas.

"So Munsel told you, did he?" Nicholas said menacingly, biting his lower lip, his limbs twitching with the sort of nervous energy Liam had seen only once before when they'd chased down a psychotic, suspected serial killer with a concealed weapon. "He told you about my uncle?"

"Your uncle's a fucking murderer, so what?" Liam spat, trying to seem calm. "It kind of takes the prize, though, you know? Me stuck with you all this time, working out that case, and then suddenly you're related to the fucking suspect?"

Nicholas froze. Liam was smart, far too smart, but he'd never guess him to put it together so fast. The steadily growing homicidal look in Liam's eyes, though, told Nicholas that now was not the time to be preaching anti-fraternization policies. Now was the time for damage control. Now was the time to pray to God that Liam hadn't resumed his martial arts training as he suspected.

Liam's fists were tangling with the fabric on the front of his coat, balling into fists, and then his body was pressing him back, smashing him against the brick wall behind him, pinning him tightly. The murderous look in Liam's eyes…it really, truly frightened him to the point where he forgot that he'd have to kick his partner's ass later for this manhandling.

"Derek Seward killed my mum," Liam hissed, his body shaking, biting back tears. "Your _fucking _uncle… That's why Bobbish called you, _that's_ why you took me on, _that's_ why you act like such a cold-hearted bastard, isn't it? You're trying to fix his mistakes, and you think having me about will grant him absolution? You're wrong, _dead fucking wrong_, mate…"

"That is _not true,_" Nicholas growled, grabbing Liam's wrists and forcing him backward with every ounce of strength in his body. "Yes, my uncle is the one in the file, but I don't think he did it. And yes, I originally accepted your partnership because of the nature of that case. But I didn't bring you on for absolution, and the way I treat everyone, you especially, has nothing to do with it. I don't let people in, Liam, because people are dangerous. People _betray_ you. People _let you down_. _People abandon you_. People, as a rule, suck."

It was a rather shocking look into Nicholas's psyche. On top of every other revelation, Liam was struck by the fact that _now_ was possibly the only time Nicholas had let anybody see him in a very, very long time, and he would be a _fool_ to pass that up-

There was sound from the street; several rapid pops followed by a faulty discharge of a firearm. People screamed, panicked, ran in every direction, and looking down on the chaos, the two officers spotted a man fleeing against the flow, casting about, waving something in front of him-

"Gun," Liam breathed, hearing the same word on Nicholas's lips.

In an instant he was on the sidewalk, blood pounding in his ears, only faintly aware of his radio buzzing as he and Nicholas simultaneously called in the incident and impending pursuit: Shots fired, unknown number of wounded, suspect on foot, still in possession, bearing south-west, officers in pursuit.

They were no longer Constables Nicholas Angel and Liam Nash. They were The Law, fueled by adrenaline and pumping out their previous aggression, following the wake their perp made London's human ocean, their bodies flying over the ground faster than either of them had ever run, perfectly in synch, focused, determined, desperate.

Down a back alley, over a dumpster far exceeding size regulations for that part of the city, further and further into the darkness they pursued this nebulous criminal. The racket of the radio kept them tied to the real world, shouting locations into the receiver as they passed landmarks, keeping HQ up to speed as to where this convoluted pursuit was taking them.

They did not consider their own personal safety. Not until they hit a dead end.

Cornered, their perp turned, fixing them with a wild-eyed stare, a thin trail of blood running from his right nostril to his lips, his body twitching angrily.

"I think he's strung out," Nicholas breathed to Liam, who tensed appropriately beside him; druggies were the hardest to wrangle, and this one was probably still armed, as they hadn't seen him discard anything.

As the seconds stretched, they began to move in closer, gauging the crack head's reactions as they closed in. There was a measure of plastic cording running from the man's shoulder, across his chest, and looping back behind him, most likely holding his weapon in place, which meant they weren't dealing with a handgun.

Around them were signs of habitation; an old mattress under a tarp-tent, a pile of broken goods and dirty clothes, dilapidated furniture. There was also a large cache of women's handbags on the mattress, their contents spread out over the filthy surface, meaning this bloke was either their thief, or he had one very odd obsession. Apparently, this was where their man _lived_, which was disturbing, taking into account how close he was to heavy traffic. Someone in the surrounding buildings probably knew him.

Nicholas reached out wildly, his open hand catching Liam across the chest, holding him back; the muzzle of an AK47 was pointed at them, the perp swinging the weapon around on its makeshift shoulder strap, his fingers fumbling for the trigger, which was at a horrible angle for any sort of accuracy.

"I'll shoot," the man said, his voice quavering wildly.

He was strung out, dangerous, wielding a high-powered rifle, and their backup was still two minutes away at best. They had to stay calm, wait for reinforcements, and keep this crazed drug addict from getting himself in any more trouble than he already was.

"Nobody needs to get hurt here," Liam said gently, holding his hands up defensively in front of himself, shifting his feet. "Let's think about this, alright?"

"Yeah," the perp said slowly, a glazed look in his eyes suddenly, before the gun twitched violently at his side. "Thought about it," he said crisply, before pulling the trigger.

The first shot hit Liam below the clavicle, the second took him in the chest, the third in the side, and the fourth went straight up in the air as Nicholas grabbed the firearm and crushed the crack head against the wall.

His left arm preoccupied with wrestling the weapon out of the man's hands, Nicholas's right fist blasted the man in the face, shattering his nose and knocking him to the ground. The cord around the man's chest snapped, the weight of the Kalashnikov pulling down on Nicholas's left arm, and he raised it a few inches higher to grasp it with both hands, spinning the firearm about and pointing it at the man's head.

"Come on, mate," the man sobbed, trying to slide away on his back, his words almost lost beneath the muddle of broken bone and torn cartilage.

Nicholas hesitated, lowering his aim, trying to hear if Liam was making any sound. A hand suddenly shot up, grabbing at the gun, the crack head wrapping his trembling hands around the muzzle of the gun in an attempt to reclaim it. Nicholas reacted on pure instinct; the last ten shots of the clip unloaded furiously into the man's head, neck and upper torso, barely making a whimper as his life was painfully extinguished.

Shaking from head to foot, Nicholas dropped the weapon and took a step back. He'd killed someone. A drug addict, a violent criminal, but a person. He'd looked into another man's eyes and made a choice to kill him, to extinguish the possibility of justice in a crude show of vigilante-ism. It was true that this man had fired on innocents, but-

And then he remembered Liam.

"Christ, Liam," he choked, spinning on his heel and rushing to his partner's side, dropping to his knees and pulling him up, propping Liam so his back was to Nicholas's chest as they sat on the frigid, blood-soaked cement.

"Nick…am I…dying?" Liam panted, a cold sheen of sweat and severe blood loss making him shiver uncontrollably.

"No, no Liam, no, you're alright," Nicholas murmured in his ear, wrapping his arms around him, feeling the warm dampness of blood seep into his jacket. "You're alright, help's coming, it's okay."

"You've got to find him," Liam said, choking back a weak sob. "Find Seward…For my mum, for me, please Nick, please-"

"We will," Nicholas said forcefully. "We will, both of us, you and me, Liam. We'll let your mum rest in peace, I swear, the two of us."

Liam was silent, his shallow breathing the only sign he was still there. Suddenly, the sound of bells peeled out across the city, and high overhead a shower of beautiful lights rained down on the city; the New Year had come. The sound almost weighed out the distant wail of sirens.

"S'gorgeous," Liam murmured, "Isn't it?"

"Yeah," Nicholas said, tears silently streaming down his face. "Happy New Year, Liam."

This time there was no stirring on Liam's part.

Nicholas imagined what it'd feel like for Liam to laugh right then, how his body would shake gently as the sound rolled off his tongue and reverberated into Nicholas's chest. He thought he knew what it would be like to feel Liam's heart beating against him, to enjoy the warmth of his body pressed to his own in the cold January night, and to have someone with whom to share the dismal days to come.

Instead Liam didn't move, he didn't speak, he didn't even really breath, and Nicholas could swear he felt the life slipping out of him as he held him so desperately.

"Oh God, Liam," Nicholas croaked, pressing his face into Liam's neck, "God, don't leave me, please, I need you here. Please, stay with me, please…"


	3. Chapter 3

When Liam first suggested Nicholas join him and his mates on their annual summer holiday, Nicholas had cited protocol like a fiend: Fraternization was strictly forbidden. Private and professional relationships should not be intermingled.

Besides, Nicholas had a horrible fear of the ocean that he'd never admit to…

Liam was not one to give up easily, however; every breath, every word, every look was laced with the deadly question. The silence on both ends was so unnatural that Nicholas found himself making awkward conversation in the office after-hours that somehow always lead to Liam laughing uncontrollably at his lack of social skills, blinking back tears as he would pose the question once again:

"Why not come out to North Shore with us, Nicholas?"

"You know very well that it's against protocol," Nicholas responded each time.

He would repeat variations of that same sentence over and over throughout the month of June, suffering through Liam's weedling, sometimes even fielding the same question from Kels or Duncan Bathe, two of the other lads involved in the excursion. He was steadfast and abbrasive, defeating their attempts each time, but finding it tiresome after four weeks without reprieve.

It was the first of July, two days before the departure, when he awoke half an hour late and realized he really did not want to go to work. His defenses had been totally worn down, and as he came into the office late, purposely avoiding Liam's pointed stare and barely contained derisive laughter, he knew he couldn't hold much longer.

"So?" Liam asked when Nicholas sat down heavily at his desk and fixed him with a particularly disturbing glower, "Shall we save you a seat in the van?"

Nicholas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, before responding.

He was defeated.

Relationships were not one of Nicholas Angel's strengths. In fact, were you to tie him to a chair, force-feed him sodium pentothal, and grill him on the matter, he would admit to possibly having that one weakness: He could not connect with people, readily or willingly.

Which was why the entire trek from London to Heysham seemed to take even longer than the already dreary four hours.

Stuffed in the back of a 1989 Toyota van, Nicholas stared forlornly out at rain-soaked countryside and high, dark grey clouds, as the heat and humidity rose steadily in the claustrophobic vehicle.

He was the only one feeling the discomfort, though. He was also the only one not having a good time.

It was Rory Stetson's van, so he was driving, with the barely-20 rookie, Duncan Bathe, alternating between fierce banter and witty criticism riding shotgun. The middle row was home to a very half-arsed game of rummy, with Kels continually contesting the accuracy of the deck cut; while Randy Wakeman may have been a total mong when it came to cards, Adrian Holbech was rumored to have run quite the gambling ring during his college days and knew a thing or two about stiffing gambling houses, so no game with him could be considered fair. In the back row with Nicholas, Liam was snoring gently, his head resting on his own shoulder in a posture that was sure to leave him stiff later. They'd been up late the night before, scrambling to finish paperwork, but Liam hadn't packed his things until he got home, which kept him up into the early hours.

A heavy weight on Nicholas's shoulder as they took a hard left off of M6 told him two things: They were almost to the ferry, and his shoulder officially belonged to Liam's head. He glanced down furtively at the mess of dark blonde locks resting against his arm, and giving a wary glance at the occupants in front of him to make sure no one was watching, he shifted his arm around Liam's shoulders and gently repositioned his friend in his sleep into a more comfortable position for both of them, with his head resting on Nicholas's breast bone.

He remembered distinctly when he began to think of Liam as more than his partner, when he'd made that leap of faith in letting himself become close to someone. Sitting in a dimly-lit hospital room two years ago, listening to the gentle beep and hum of life support machines, watching the rise and fall of Liam's chest beneath the thin sheet the staff had afforded him, he'd been struck by just how grateful he was to have him in his life. He balanced him out, took the heat for mistakes and offered his own brand of comic and stress relief. He could make Nicholas laugh.

An hour on the ferry and another driving across the Isle of Man to North Shore brought them to the end of their haul: A beachside cottage, an old property handled through some perpetual estate belonging to one of Kels's many relatives. No one would have guessed looking at the rugged officer that he came from a family of means, but the look of the meticulously maintained three-bedroom retreat did more than speak on his behalf.

They hauled in their luggage, opening every door and window to air out the film of dust and accumulation of dead air that always builds in shut-up buildings. The storm had long since passed over, a refreshing breeze carrying a hint of ocean salt and the clean after-taste of freshly washed nature throughout the structure, luring them outdoors onto the front porch to take in the sunset. Duncan and Adrian tore off along the sand, Rory and Kels joining them after a moment, as the four of them danced along the edge of water, letting the waves chase them up and back across the sand. Wakeman yelled at them to keep dry before heading inside; he was the only one among them who knew how to make anything more complicated than instant noodles, so he'd been allocated the task of fixing supper.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Liam said to Nicholas, leaning against one of the porch's support beams.

The words drew an imperceptible shudder from Nicholas, a memory echoing in his head of two years prior. Glancing over at Liam, his eyes searched his friend's collar bone, exposed to the sunset by the green tank top he was sporting. He could see the faded scar marring his pale skin, the remnants of a ragged hole, a reminder of a bullet that had nearly torn one of his major arteries and stolen him away.

"Yes, yes it is," Nicholas replied, his eyes still on Liam, who was too busy watching his friends act like children on the beach, a small smile playing across his lips.

Part of him wanted something, some sort of contact, and he felt that Liam needed it to, but his rational mind was pummeling the shit out of his diminutive emotional core before his fingers could even twitch. Sometimes he hated himself, being so caught up in work, but it was just who he was; he couldn't even connect with Marcy, a district prosecutor with the body of a Playmate, whom he'd been bedding for almost a year, now. Things weren't good between them lately, and sensing an imminent break-up, Nicholas was glad for the holiday in that it got him away from her irksome presence.

"We should turn in," Liam said, turning toward him suddenly and breaking his inner monologue, "We've an early start tomorrow."

"Really?" Nicholas replied, cocking an eyebrow, "And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Surfing," Liam chuckled, clapping a hand on Nicholas's shoulder, "And maybe a swimming lesson for you, mate. You may be one hell of a lapper, but the ocean…Well, she's another business entirely."

The biggest problem with a three-room cabin was that people were inevitably forced to share rooms, and therefore beds, and the task of settling on a bunkmate suddenly became a matter of saving face. Two of the rooms had a bunkbed and a single, but the set-up had originally been designed for a family, meaning the third bedroom was the master suite, and therefore had only one large bed.

The question began as who was most comfortable with their sexuality, and ended by drawing straws, the two who drew the short stubs being the unlucky couple in the big bed.

Fate seemed to be high on irony at the moment of selection, however; when all the straws were drawn, it was down to Liam and Nicholas with the short ends, the two of them staring across the living room at one another as the other lads had a good laugh at their expense. Nicholas looked entirely put-upon, while all the color seemed to have fled Liam's face and lodged solely in his ears, which flushed red to the point of hilarity.

"I can take a blanket with the floor," were the first words out of Liam's mouth when the two of them were left alone downstairs, the others heading off to bed, the sounds of their chatter and laughter creating a dull murmur overhead, like a television left on low in a distant room.

"No, that's fine," Nicholas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand on his hip.

"The couch, then?" Liam offered, crossing his arms and biting his lip.

"Liam," Nicholas sighed, dropping his hands to his sides, "Don't worry on it, _really_. It's not as though this were a honeymoon. It's sleep. Nothing will happen besides maybe one of your friends choking to death on his own laughter, and I wouldn't mourn overmuch for that."

"_My_ friends?" Liam retorted, "You act as if you've no affiliation with them besides me."

He poked Nicholas in the chest, making his friend grab his hand and shove it aside irritably. Laughing, he raised his other hand to poke him again, going at Nicholas with both index fingers, niggling him in the sides as he chased after him, Nicholas fighting to remain stoic and losing horribly as he swatted away the weak attacks. Finally, he grabbed both Liam's hands and trapped them together, head butting him in the forehead just hard enough to mix a few stray tears of pain with the ones of laughter already clinging to their eyelashes.

"Bed?" Liam said, cocking his head to the side and smiling playfully, wrestling his hands free.

"Please," Nicholas replied, motioning for Liam to go ahead without him.

He watched Liam cross the living room and take the stairs three at a time, hearing his steps falter outside one of the other bedrooms to shout at somebody, a moment later hearing Rory yell in return. He flopped down on the couch, running his hands over his face and sighing heavily, feeling the weight of his unwanted emotions tug at his chest.

Liam…Liam was special.

The sand was already heating up as they jogged along the beach, the sun's rays radiating over the horizon in glorious bands of red and gold, the day growing bright and cloudless. Had anyone else been out at that ungodly hour, they definitey would have gawked at the sight of seven well-built men making their slow run, held up by the unfamiliar shifting of the earth beneath them, and their own playfulness. They all battled to run highest up along the gentle incline, those closer to the water battling the weight of the sea as well as the earth while they ran, shoving and laughing, sometimes tumbling head over heels, but always joking.

Two kilometers down and two kilometers back, they were all down to just their swim trunks by the time they finished, shirts and shoes kicked off or tossed aside and left where they lay, unconcerned about anyone coming along and taking them or complaining as they simply enjoyed themselves.

There were four surf boards and five boogie boards between the seven of them, meaning they would either have to share or beat the snot out of each other to get first choice, but before the squabbling could begin, Randy denied any claim toward a board of any description, and Liam let Nicholas know under no uncertain terms was he letting him anywhere near a surfboard until they'd gotten him properly acquainted with the sea.

And that's when Nicholas's phobia kicked in.

Standing at the edge of the water, gazing out at the endless blue-on-blue of sea and sky, he felt himself grow a tad bit dizy and nauseas, as if he'd been shaken too hard or dropped on his head. Cold water crashed over him as Kels and Duncan raced past, slamming into a particularly high breaker and sending up spray as they battled to be the first out with their boards.

"You alright there, mate?" Liam asked, making Nicholas jump as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"M'fine," Nicholas replied, his voice a bit strangled.

"You're not scared of the ocean, are you?" Randy asked, appearing on his other side suddenly, a crooked smile on his face. "Nicholas Angel is afraid of the water?"

"I am not _afraid_, Wakeman," Nicholas growled, narrowing his eyes. "I'm simply contemplating the most efficient way of drowning the lot of you."

"Do _not_ make me carry your arse out there," Adrian laughed, coming up behind him and bumping him with his surfboard.

"I'll warn you now, Holbech," Nicholas growled, turning to glower at him, "If any portion of your being enters my personal space, I will break it off."

"Ain't he a charmer?" Rory chuckled, reaching to ruffle Nicholas's almost nonexistent hair, snatching his hand back as Nicholas made a grab at him.

"Oh, bugger off, all of you," Liam yelled as the four would-be surfers plunged into the waves, laughing and calling to each other.

"Don't worry on it, Nicholas," Wakeman said, crossing his arms and nodding his head gently, "Everyone gets their gills eventually. Otherwise, they drown, but Liam here may be good enough to pull you out. I wouldn't count on the others so much, though."

Randy laughed heartily as he left them standing together, following after the others without any flotation device, allowing his body to carry him on his back between the waves.

"Are you sure about this?" Nicholas asked suddenly, glancing sidewards at Liam, who cocked his head and smiled.

"Of course," he replied, shoving Nicholas's shoulder playfully. "I've never lost anyone yet, and I'll not start with you, Nick. Besides, I've got to teach you about surfing, and that can't happen until you figure out the difference between swimming in salt water and drowning in it."

For a moment they were silent, Liam's smile fading slightly, as Nicholas's stoic expression changed into something reminiscent of dread, which took Liam by some degree of surprise; he'd never known his partner to be scared, save the one time when he'd nearly been dragged by a car, and the other when Liam had been shot. To see the same look conveyed on the matter of a bit of water seemed nearly ridiculous, but in the spirit of things, Liam felt it best not to voice that opinion.

"Well," Nicholas sighed, shaking out his limbs and starting forward, "No better time or place than now, I suppose…"

He'd never admit it, but the hand Liam placed gently against his back was probably the only thing that kept him going, his only support and his only lifeline. Nicholas was not a needy person, but at that moment, he indisputably needed Liam.

"I feel dreadful," Nicholas laughed, letting out a slight hiss of pain as Liam jabbed quickly at his flushed skin.

"That's what we get for not wearing sun cream," Liam replied, staggering sideways as Nicholas threw his shoulder against him.

It didn't help that they'd been drinking.

Despite his fear, Nicholas took to the water quickly, finding the rhythm of the waves and synching his body with it, so that in a very short while he was swimming out into deeper water, sneaking up on Rory and flipping him off his board.

Surfing, however, was perhaps his second-worst skill, next to socializing. It didn't help that Liam, the only person willing to school him, wasn't much more than a beginner himself, and a rather horrible one at that. The day had wrapped up with Rory and Adrian, relieved of their boards, falling over one another in the sand as they laughed themselves to tears, watching Liam and Nicholas make utter fools of themselves. Duncan and Kels weren't much more supportive, heckling them every time either Liam or Nicholas seemed to be making any progress, so that they inevitably made some fatal error and pitched any number of ways off their boards.

It wasn't until they were out of the water and heading into town for a drink that they realized they hadn't bothered to protect their skin, so that all their movements were somewhat painful, their skin a funny sort of red where their clothes hadn't covered them.

Somehow, during the course of the day, they had all managed to become phenomenally chummy, talking and laughing more easily than they'd expected, largely due to the fact that Nicholas had finally dropped his guard a touch. It was just much easier to communicate when you weren't dreading having your head ripped off at any moment.

Even more strange was the fact that Nicholas actually accepted the invitation to drink, receiving more than ample encouragement from others, assuring him that it would help him to forget about his sensitive skin. So he'd taken the first glass offered to him, and reluctantly a second and third, and by the sixth, he'd forgotten when he'd started, leaning heavily against Liam and murmuring something about feeling generally unwell. They excused themselves rather unceremoniously, slipping out the back door while Kels and Randy tried to challenge some of the locals to a shot contest, stealing the keys to the cottage off Kels's keyring before leaving the ignition keys with the bartender.

Walking along, Liam and Nicholas couldn't help but sway and giggle, prodding each other and seeing how long they could tolerate the pressure before begging the other off, white marks fading quickly into pale pink. They made it back to the cottage and let themselves in, purposely locking all the doors and windows on the ground floor. That'd show the bastards; let them sleep on the beach for being such pricks in the water.

Nicholas sank heavily onto the couch, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, letting the cool darkness soothe his raw skin. Liam came in quietly, carrying a bottle of lotion with him, and fell onto the seat beside Nicholas, popping the cap and offering him the bottle silently. As Nicholas took it from him, Liam pulled off his own shirt, grunting as he struggled the garment off, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension and hissing as the raw skin folded on itself.

To his mild shock, Liam hooked his thumbs under the waist of his shorts and slid them off, gently running his nails along his red flesh.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Nicholas asked, realizing a moment too late that he was staring.

"It kind of…tingles," Liam replied, half smiling as he blushed in the darkness.

Thoroughly intrigued and deeply intoxicated, Nicholas removed his own shorts, realizing just how much they'd been chafing his burned skin as he relieved his legs of the annoyance. He copied the motion he'd seen Liam practicing, finding that it did in fact tingle, the burn mixing with a tickle, making him want to rub the sensation away.

He looked over at Liam and smiled, his head somewhat foggy. His eyes sought out the other two scars Liam bore, one just below his sternum, the other where his appendix used to be, all three blissfully missing everything major. Nicholas imagined how much it must have hurt, being ripped apart that way, and without realizing it, his fingers reached out to trace a line from Liam's clavicle to his waist, ghosting gently over each scar, making Liam shudder beneath his touch.

The lotion chaged hands, Liam pouring some into his palms and spreading it along his own arms and legs, Nicholas stealing some as well and finding it rather soothing. He felt hands against his chest suddenly, massaging his abs, then one dropping to his thigh as the other stilled.

"God, Nicholas, you alright there, mate?" Liam asked in a hushed tone, seeing the horrified look on Nicholas's face and not making the connection.

"Y…yeah, fine, great," Nicholas choked out, blushing furiously and clutching at one of the throw pillows, pressing it into his lap as he dropped his gaze from Liam's strangely prying eyes.

"Seriously, if you're feeling ill, we should get you to the loo," Liam said, his tone lowerd with concern as he scooted closer, their knees knocking together.

Liam's hand was on the back of his neck, the other still on his thigh, his eyes totally glossed from alcohol, and Nicholas feeling its effects in his head as well. He stared desperately at Liam's mouth, licking his lips in anticipation and lust. He wanted him. He needed him. He had to have him.

When Nicholas awoke, his head was a mush of pain and nausea, passing gently as he sat up and let his head hang between his knees, breathing heavily. The smell of clean sheets and ocean breeze made his head clear, and as it did, he tried to remember where he was, and how he'd wound up there.

He was upstairs, in the bedroom he was supposed to share with Liam, the sun pouring through the open window, and a glance at the clock on the bedside table told him it was already noon.

He stretched, turning from side to side as he tried to pop the stiffness from his back, and froze when he saw Liam lying in bed beside him, fast asleep, lips barely parted and hair thoroughly tousled. In that moment, a myriad thoughts rushed back to him: Liam, flushed and writhing, lips parted, sucking, groaning, back arching, hands wadding sheets together in tight fists as he threw his head back on the pillow, begging for…something.

For Nicholas.

His mouth went dry, realizing they were both naked, their lower bodies barely obscured by the sheets, but the memory of naked flesh was clear enough in his mind.

"L…Liam," Nicholas murmured, shifting closer and shaking his friend gently by the shoulder, "Liam, wake up, babe."

Groaning gently, Liam stretched languidly, arching his back, yawning as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Uhn, Nick, what time is it?" Liam asked before registering the terrified look on Nicholas's face.

A similar look leapt onto his own features as the odd pain in his body and strange taste in his mouth were suddenly registered and identified with the aid of foggy memories.

They sat together in tense silence, gazing into each other's eyes, unable to speak for a long time.

"Did we…?" Liam finally ventured.

"I think so," Nicholas replied. "How…how much d'you recall?"

"Well," Liam began, rubbing the back of his head, blushing furiously, "I remember…you…um, on top…"

"Christ," Nicholas breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Nobody can know about this, Liam, nobody, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Liam nodded, swallowing hard, "We'll just…what, should we forget it?"

"Is that what you want?" Nicholas asked, leading the question into neutral territory.

Liam didn't quite understand at first. Nicholas was offering him something, giving him an opportunity to say either yes or no. Was there an option? Could they really…?

"N…no," Liam murmured, reaching for Nicholas, his hand finding Nicholas's in the bedclothes and latching onto it. "I don't want to forget about it. I want…I want to-"

His words were lost a moment later as Nicholas pressed their lips together, kissing him tenderly, his hands snaking around his back to pull him in close.

They made love for hours, resting intermittently, ignoring the possibility of discovery as they lay together, breathless, studying each other's eyes, memorizing each other's bodies, learning how to touch and be touched and say each other's names in a way that meant more than just co workers, more than just partners, more than just friends.

They were lovers. And for the first time, Nicholas was truly in love.


	4. Chapter 4

Liam grunts, forgetting himself, face-down in an unfamiliar bed. There's a hard weight against him, a fierce heat, and a sure pair of hands sliding his underwear down his legs before he's awake enough to object.

_'This is what happens when you sleep at Nick's, you stupid arse…_'

He's flipped on his back, bouncing against the mattress, hearing the coils creak once with his impact, and then a second time as Nicholas leaps on top of him, already naked, already hungry, already _ready_.

Arms around his waist hold him in place as Nicholas laps at Liam's chest, dragging his tongue across the smooth expanse until he reaches a nipple, and with the first impressions of heat and wet and softness turning to hardness, he gasps and clutches the sheets, arches his back, and godgod_God_, he doesn't even want to think about asking Nicholas to stop anymore.

He wants to grab Nicholas, though, to hold him, but he knows he can't. Nicholas, on the other hand, has no qualms about sliding a hand down to grab Liam's ass, to force him upward against Nicholas, feeling his mounting need bump against his flesh.

Nicholas slides upward, mouth still trailing along skin, and stops at Liam's neck this time, biting at the tender flesh and suckling hard, relishing the groans and whimpers Liam's making, his arms once again wrapped around Liam's middle.

"_…N…Nick_," Liam groans, bucking upward against Nicholas, this time their bodies perfectly aligned, Liam's erection jumping against Nicholas's. He holds the arch, as hard as it is, to try and grind his hips into Nicholas's, feeling trapped and desperate.

A hand, palm wide, suddenly lashes through the air, striking Liam on the side of his ass, the clean cracking sound bouncing off the bare walls of Nicholas's bedroom. Liam shouts and jumps, crashing back against the bed, but Nicholas flips him again, pinning his hands with his own, either side of Liam's head, his shins hooked over Liam's thighs to keep his legs in place.

Nicholas leans forward, kissing Liam between the shoulder blades, shimmying his legs further down the bed, so that his body is rigidly poised over Liam's. His tongue is leaving maddening trails all across Liam's back, from the small of his back to the base of his neck, Nicholas blowing tentatively against the wetness from time to time, making Liam shudder and groan.

"_Nick_," he whimpers again. This time, his right hand is freed as Nicholas cocks back, hand beside his own ear, and strikes Liam twice across the ass, leaving a bright red welt in the vague shape of his fingers.

Liam shouts and groans, biting the pillow under his face to keep the volume down, writhing and wriggling as another blow, harder still, lands against his ass. His hand is pinned again, Nicholas leaning his head in to ghost his tongue along Liam's ear.

"You love it," Nicholas growls, but Liam can tell he's smiling, and the slight tremor in his hands and gentle downward sway of Nicholas's body tells him that it's doing as much for Nick as it is for Liam. "You slut…"

"Whore," Liam groans in response.

"Bitch," Nicholas breathes against Liam's ear, making him choke and whine.

"Fucker," Liam combats, shaking and jerking in frustration, wanting to roll on his back and pull Nicholas down on him.

Seeing his desperation, Nicholas releases Liam's wrists, allowing his lover to face him, immediately pinning his hands as soon as he can see Liam's eyes. They stare for a few moments, watching the city lights play across one another's features, making this moment last as long as they can; naked, lustful, poised on the brink of sex, but for once without the aid of alcohol or the urgency of desperation, just making love for the sake of it, for the sake of each other.

"Only you," Nicholas says with such intensity that Liam feels he could orgasm just from the sound of Nicholas's voice.

"I love you," Liam suddenly moans, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling Nicholas's vice-like grip on his hands suddenly tear away, Nicholas sitting bolt upright in shock.

Liam opens his eyes, terrified, trying to sit up as well, but finding his lower torso still pinned beneath Nicholas. He stares at him, a look of horror melting slowly into shock, and as Nicholas puts his head in his hands, moving to get up from Liam, he's suddenly grabbed about the waist and pulled back in, hands free and pushing back against the mattress as he saves himself from tumbling forward too hard onto Liam's chest.

"What?" Liam murmurs, holding Nicholas down, despite being underneath him.

"You can't," Nicholas says, his voice weak and desperate. "Liam, you can't love me. We're…mates, coworkers, partners, but…we're not…_lovers_, are we?"

Liam looks at him, just staring, feeling the coldness of reality begin to tangle around his heart. His arms slide off Nicholas's back, flopping lifelessly on the bed, as Liam averts his gaze, staring off into the dark corners of the room.

"No," Liam sighs, "No, I guess…we aren't."

"But…you want us to be," Nicholas deduces after a moment, still knealing over Liam, "You want us to be lovers? You want to be my…_boyfriend_."

"I don't want to feel like I'm just a fuck," Liam suddenly explodes, Nicholas half-sitting again as Liam shoots up beneath him. "I don't want to just be some passing tail you can use and toss out, Nick. Not anymore."

Now it's Nicholas's turn to get angry, to shove Liam forcefully back onto the bed, to pin him and bite his neck, to grind furiously against him, making Liam sob in anger and lust and rage with Nicholas for forcing this on him, and at himself for being so turned on by him, even after everything that's happened between them.

"You think that's it?" Nicholas growls in his ear, feeling Liam's cock steadily pulsating against his own. "You think it's just the fucking, do you? You think it doesn't fuck me up too, every time we tumble, and you give me that fucking _look_, yes, you know the one. The hurt puppy-dog, the pity-on-me, the martyrdom of Saints, you fucking prat."

Liam is afraid now, perfectly terrified, the rage in Nicholas's face making him struggle to recoil, but with the bed at his back and Nicholas at his front, pushing him against it, there's no room to escape.

"Nicholas-"

"No, you shut the _fuck_ up and listen," Nicholas snaps, jerking against Liam, gritting his teeth fiercely, forgetting that bucking against Liam in that fashion is only serving to make them both sexually distracted despite the situation. "Every time you look at me, I feel like I'm dying, d'you realize that? Because what I feel…I can't feel this, especially not for you, Liam…"

"Why the fuck not?" Liam shouts, lashing against Nicholas's iron grip, "What the hell is so utterly wrong with me that you can't love me? You sure as shit don't love Jeanine, or Marcy, or Cheryll, or whoever the hell cunt it is you're plugging, but you can stuff fake vows down their panties as long as the doors are still open for business, eh? And I'm not even good enough for that, am I?"

"That's _why_ I can't, you sodding mong!" Nicholas shouts in return, his forehead bumping against Liam's as they changed dominance in the argument again. "They don't _mean_ anything, don't you _see _that? They're just stupid women. They don't see or hear or do anything they don't want to, so you just throw them a fucking bone once and a while, and they're fine to fuck anything else on the side when you can't. But unlike _some_ people, I don't want to answer all that many questions at work, _I_ don't really want to lose my job, thanks, and _I_ don't want to risk…"

Nicholas deflates suddenly, his grip loosening as he begins to sit back again. He looks stunned, drained, terribly sad, and he barely whispers the last of his thought before moving off the edge of the bed.

"I don't want to risk…everything."

A hand shoots out, grabbing Nicholas by the wrist, pulling him back before Nicholas can object, and he finds himself in Liam's arms. His chest feels vaguely damp suddenly, and the slight tremor resonating in his body tells him that Liam's crying.

"Don't go," Liam whimpers, "Don't…don't leave me here, Nicholas, not now. I'll be…whatever you want this to be, I'll be it, no questions, no strings, _nothing_-"

"That's not what I want," Nicholas cuts in, pulling Liam away gently, holding him by the shoulders. He looks at him for a moment, both of them searching each other's faces, unknowingly poised on the brink of their relationship: The next breath they take will be for the rest of their lives, and for better or worse, the outcome will always trace back to this night.

The look on Liam's face breaks Nicholas's heart, and his first inclination is to run.

"_Run where? Run to whom? Jeanine? No… I never…I never __**feel**__ like this… And I wanted to tell him, too, how much I… But that's __**not who I am**__!"_

Liam sees the indecision on Nicholas's face and sighs inwardly, trying to lock away his heart, cursing his tears and weakness.

_"How am I to go on like this if he won't… But is it right for me to ask that of him? To make him risk everything he loves? Am I really worth __**that**__? No, no, Liam, you fool, what have you done…?"_

To his utmost shock, Liam feels Nicholas's arms around him, pulling him in, holding him to his chest and sighing, fingers playing in his hair as the heat from their bodies begins to merge, to become one radiance.

"I can't do this anymore," Nicholas murmurs, his lips against the side of Liam's head, the words nearly lost in his wavy hair. "We can't…I can't be half a person. Not for anyone, Liam. I hope you can understand what that means, for both of us. It…We can't do this anymore."

Liam pushes away from him, studying his face, his own expression a mixture of crippling sadness and restrained understanding, as if he'd known the same thing all along and simply hadn't the balls to say it.

"I just want to know…" Liam manages to whisper, choking back a sob and taking a deep breath, closing his eyes to block out the image of Nicholas, and yet locking that instant away in his mind, "I just need to know…if you ever…if you…ugh, never mind, Nicholas…"

Liam tries to get out of bed, to find his clothes and keys and somehow find the will to go back to his own empty apartment. This time a hand grabs his wrist, pulling him back, and it's Nicholas forcing Liam to stay, trapping him in his arms, a loose embrace so that they can look into one another's eyes, cross-legged on the bed and facing one another.

Nicholas doesn't speak immediately. He cocks his head, tipping his face away slightly, sizing Liam up the way he's seen him study criminals and junkies before going in for the proverbial cross-examination kill in one of a thousand interviews. For an instant, Liam's over-active imagination is punted in the side with the thought of just how much he looks like Horatio Caine from that silly American cop drama, making him fight back a highly inappropriate giggle.

The hint of a smile escapes, triggering a surprisingly similar reation in Nicholas. Sighing, he pulls Liam closer, using downward pressure on Liam's shoulders to make him look up into Nicholas's eyes, ever the dominant one. He's tongue tied, gritting his teeth, even clearing his throat once as Liam fixes him with a blank stare.

"I love you," Nicholas states, cleanly and simply, a slight tremor catching the last of his words. "And I just…I just thought you, you know, Liam…And I, well…God, this shouldn't be so difficult…"

Liam continues to stare, blinking rapidly, totally in disbelief. Did Nicholas just say that? Yes, he did, definitely. Did he mean it? Well, probably, yes, I mean, he never gets this worked up even when Barclay tries to put his hand on his thigh, or mine, either, but that never really mattered before _now_, did it? Christ, you're talking to yourself, aren't you? I suppose I am. Well, knock it off! Honestly, man, he's just proved himself to be partially human, and to _you_ of all people, and you're off in Neverland playing follow-the-leader?

"Liam?" Nicholas asks gently, watching with nervous amusement as Liam snaps out of his wanderings. He pulls him in a bit closer, running his thumbs along Liam's back as his hands remain predominantly stationary. "Is…is that alright?"

"But I thought you said we couldn't?" Liam combats weakly, feeling totally wiped out, fighting back tears. "You said you couldn't be half a person-"

"No, I can't be," Nicholas cuts in, pressing his forehead against Liam's, praying he'll get the message telepathically, because it's not within his capabilities to be any more sentimental without _becoming_ mental. "I can't be only half anymore, Liam. I need both halves to make me complete, and…well, that means I…"

His words are cut short as Liam lets out a strangled sob, which is quickly cut off by his mouth crashing against Nicholas's, arms wrapping tightly around his chest, shaking with tears of relief.

"I can't, I can't, I can't, Nicholas," Liam whimpers, falling back on the mattress, pulling Nicholas with him, watching each other across the pillows. "I can't play games like this. Either…either I'm enough, or no-one is, not me and whatever lady strikes your fancy, not me and anyone else, just… I want to be your other half, yes, please, anything, just…"

"Liam," Nicholas whispers, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand slowly tracing the contour of Liam's face, his neck, his chest, leaving his hands splayed across Liam's belly. He leans in over Liam's prone form, splayed fingers leaping to clutch possessively at Liam's hip as his lover tries to slide away, knowing what Liam wants but afraid to give it, yet also knowing that part of him needs it, too. "Call me Nick, babe, please…"

"N…Nick," Liam whispers, the taboo name like the first of many promises between them. There is no punishment now for the familiarity, and it sends a thrill down Liam's spine.

"You're already my…other," Nicholas continues, his voice low and lustful, crawling closer to Liam, straddling him, running his hands up and down Liam's sides, tickling and rubbing, dragging nails briefly to leave short-lived welts. "You're already my…lover," he continues, forgetting to be proper, forgetting to hold back, to be analytical or professional or commonsensical, forgetting protocol and saying the hell with it all, to just be _human_ and enjoy touching another _human_ who wasn't looking to get anything more complex out of this than…well, _love_, whatever that was.

He thinks tonight, Liam can show him that, even if he doesn't know it's so.

"And I love you," Nicholas breathes, kissing the side of Liam's neck just below his ear, pressing his tongue against the sensitive flesh, making Liam groan and clutch at his back.

It's a strange, new sensation, embracing during sex, but Nicholas pushes the innitial fear aside and decides he likes this, this _neediness_, this feeling of belonging to someone like…_this_.

His mouth trails along Liam's jaw, finding his lover's open mouth waiting for his own, tongues tangling in open air as hands explore unfamiliar territory. Nicholas is thrusting experimentally, his cock sliding freely over Liam's stomach, finding Liam's erection and rubbing against it expertly. Liam sees pinpricks of light burst at the back of his eyes, choking back a yelp, clawing at the small of Nicholas's back.

"God, do that again," Liam moans against Nicholas's lips, lunging at him and bruising his lips, struggling the way Nicholas always likes, only to be held down in submission, all contact lost, much to his chagrin and concern. "What's wrong, Nick?"

The name again, and the disappointment on Nicholas's face ebbs gently, lowering himself back down onto Liam, wrapping his arms around him, their bodies flat together, his mouth working along Liam's shoulder toward his neck. He pulls back, savoring the groan fading in Liam's chest like the rumble of distant thunder after a life-giving rain.

"I want…I want to make love," Nicholas murmurs, his cold features suddenly warmed and softened, showing the most perfect, wonderful creature Liam has ever had the privilege to gaze upon. "I don't want to fight, or struggle, or any of that, Liam. I…I want _you_."

"You've always had me," Liam replies, smiling gently as he reaches up to trace Nicholas's sides, making him giggle when his fingers stray too close to his hips. "I've always been right here, waiting for you, even…no matter what. And I can't even begin to say…how long…I've wanted this."

Nicholas lowers himself down again gently, going slowly, mouth back on Liam's neck, hands petting hair and stroking sides. He feels Liam's hands against his ass, rubbing and pressing, leading his gentle thrusts, making each one more subtle and breath-taking than the last. Their bellies are already sticky with pre-come, their cocks trapped in the delicious heat and friction their bodies are building between them.

"Liam," Nicholas mutters, furrowing his brow as he sits back abruptly, looking thoroughly disappointed, "Cor, fuckidall, I don't…I don't have condoms left, I don't think…"

Liam scoffed. "Who else are you fucking?"

"Besides you?" Nicholas asks, grinning devilishly despite his name, "Nobody in three weeks, and then that was just a quickie from Jeanine, but after tonight, I swear-"

"You're clean?" Liam clarifies, giving Nicholas a pointed look.

"You…" Nicholas blinks, leaning forward, one hand cupping Liam's face, "What about you? I mean, is there anyone-"

"Not in a year," Liam admits, blushing. "You've been my only, Nick, and…I want to make sure it stays that way, so I don't…I'd like to, really, to…"

Nicholas understands, though a tinge of fear ate at his heart; what if he has something, from Jeanine or one of the girls, and he never caught on? He gets tested regularly, his distrust making it a mandatory part of his life, but suddenly he doubts the doctors and the tests, and goddamit he won't hurt Liam, never, not even…

"Nick," Liam's voice pulls him back, his fingers pressing gently around Nicholas's belly button, the twitching in Nicholas's cock making it bump the back of Liam's hand. "I want you to make love to me, please, just as you are. I want to feel everything, every inch, every centimeter, every bit…"

"God, you make metrics sound sexy," Nicholas gasps, pushing Liam flat on his back, a hand going instinctively to the unerside of Liam's knee, pushing it back and away. He kneels between Liam's knees, watching his lover's expression, before realizing that this is the first time…

"If this alright?" Liam breathes, his dick pulsating hard as Nicholas leans low over him, the head of his cock bumping Liam's balls. He shudders and moans, which makes Nicholas feel much better, but he's still concerned…

"Are you sure-?" Nicholas attempts, but the look in Liam's eyes stops the words in his throat.

"I want you to make me come," he says in the sexiest voice Nicholas has ever heard, "And then I want you to come inside me, Nick. I want you, please, Nick, please…"

"Shush," Nicholas replies, grabbing the base of his cock with his free hand and coming in even closer, the head of his cock brushing Liam's opening, realizing he hasn't any lube at the same time that he decides he doesn't really care anymore.

The head of his cock slides in almost effortlessly, Liam letting out a slight hiss at the intrusion, and Nicholas holds still, watching his lover's face. For a moment, there is pain and tension, but in an instant, it melts away, and Liam is beginning to push himself down the bed, sliding Nicholas into himself, and with a sneaky grin, Nicholas obliges him by rocking forward.

Liam gasps and arches his back, letting out a stream of incomprehensible curses and affirmations, bucking and arching, making Nicholas's job hard, but making it that much sweeter as well. Liam is enjoying this, nearly laughing really by the time Nicholas's balls finally come to rest against Liam's ass, the two of them holding perfectly still. The realization that they've come this far, that they're making love, that they mean it, that they love each other, is made better only by the flashbolt contractions of Liam's body around Nicholas's member, making them both twitch and groan, too enraptured by reality to destroy it by moving.

"_Nick_," Liam moans, ignoring the possibility of being overheard, "Nick, babe, please, move. Make love to me, babe, I want to feel you move inside me…"

Nicholas smiles to himself, releasing his hold on Liam's kneecap and pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of Liam's chest, looking into his lover's eyes as he begins to pull back, as he pushes in again, as he fights back the wonderous urge to orgasm immediately. It feels amazing, breath-taking, Liam's body so hot and tight around him, giving himself up, engulfing his cock in his lover's gorgeous body. Watching his eyes, his face, his body react, Nicholas is nearly overwhelmed by the situation.

"_Nick!"_ Liam shouts this time, writhing and moaning, begging him not to stop. He's found it, that place deep inside Liam's body that makes him want to sell his soul, to give up every shred of life for Nicholas, to spend his days and nights dedicated to the practice or _this_, and always with Nicholas.

"Liam," Nicholas manages to moan, sinking his dick deep with a series of rapid strokes. "Christ, Liam, you should feel this, it's beautiful. So beautiful, babe…Liam, you really are. I love you…"

Liam grabs him and pulls him down, melding their mouths together, panting and sobbing into the kiss, needing to feel his mouth against him. Wordlessly, Nicholas reaches between them and wraps his hand around Liam's cock, suddenly glad to be kissing him, as Liam's eyes shoot wide and he practically screams his approval.

"Fuckfuckfuck, Nick, yes, please, more, please," Liam begs, one hand clutching the sheets while the other clings desperately to Nicholas's shoulder. Nicholas thrusts evenly, timing his hand to match perfectly, Liam's cock throbbing in Nicholas's fist.

"Tell me you love me, Liam," Nicholas says softly, feeling his own resolve start to break apart rapidly. "Tell me you want this, tell me anything, and I'll believe you."

"I love you, Nick," Liam sobs, his eyes locking with Nicholas's, "And I always will."

"Yeah," Nicholas affirms, the vow becoming a groan as he feels a deep pressure build at the tip of his cock, in his balls, in his back, even.

Liam throws his head back against the pillows, feet pressing hard into the mattress, as his cock jumps in Nicholas's hand, sending a heavy stream of come shotting across Liam's belly, coating Nicholas's knuckles. He gasps for air, crashing back onto the bed, twitching hard as his body tries to continue pumping out semen, the stimulation from Nicholas's hand and cock ongoing.

"Liam," Nicholas groans, slamming into him one last time, before he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, mouth wide, and with the tightening around his cock, comes deep within his lover's body, shaking and spasming.

"Ooooh, Christ, yes," Nicholas groans, smiling as he slides free and flops onto the bed, his heart racing, pounding in time to Liam's.

Liam rolls on his side and pulls Nicholas in close, tangling their bodies together, waiting for their bodies to calm down.

"We need to clean up before we can sleep," Nicholas sighs, feeling his eyelids droop, knowing there's no way he's getting out of bed tonight.

"No, we just need to sleep," Liam corrects, as cute as ever, "Besides, if we get in the shower, I'll not be able to keep my mouth off you, and that won't get us much sleep."

"Is that meant to detter me?' Nicholas jokes.

Liam is a bit surprised by this; Nicholas never jokes lightheartedly. This is…this is good. Very good. In fact, it's absofuckinglutely terrific.

"I love you," Liam murmurs, closing his eyes and snuggling in close.

"…I love you, too," Nicholas responds, a genuine smile lost in the darkness, but swears the next one will be for Liam, for the two of them, and it will be everything he's ever wanted to give him.


	5. Chapter 5

Liam stared blankly at the arrest warrant on his desk. Recently, Detective Malone had gotten into the habit of pairing photos with the warrants she issued him, citing to Inspector Kenneth Kincaid that it made locating suspects far easier on the streets, where a name said little if anything about the person.

He knew the man in this photograph.

The memory came back to him gently through the cases and consequences that had accumulated over it in his mind, like pulling up a chest burried in the sand: It was a few weeks after their "incident" at North Shore, the two of them working on their act of normalcy in the office, surprised and relieved that none of the lads mentioned their prolonged absence from the group, mostly because they'd all slept on the beach that night and spent the majority of the following day trying to find the local kids responsible for stealing Rory's van.

Liam had gone to Nicholas's apartment for once, a small studio with the remnants of a bad break-up working its way into the décor: A bed for two with only one occupant, a leather couch that didn't match the chair it was partnered with, the half-bare shelves and curtainless windows.

He told Liam her name was Marcy Jourvaise and let it go at that, seeing the recognition on Liam's face.

A photo album caught Liam's eye as Nicholas went into the kitchen, fixing up something for dinner. Liam hadn't known Nicholas could cook, nor had Nicholas known the same of Liam, as for all their outspoken traits, they tended to keep the more sensitive ones to themselves.

Flopping down on the dissident sofa, he let the volume fall open on his lap, snickering to himself as he perused the visual history of Nicholas's life: Birthday parties, playgrounds, school socials and summer outings, all centered around a smiling, toe-headed little boy. Yet with the flip of one page, he found himself looking into the sad, emotionless eyes that he'd become accustomed to seeing across the office, on the streets, and wherever else he chanced to meet Nicholas where they were privy to social conformity.

This was Nicholas Angel, 8 years old, and already his trademarked seriousness was set firmly upon his person.

"My father gave them to me when mum got sick," Nicholas's voice suddenly chimed in his ear, "The photo books, I mean."

He spun in his seat, finding Nicholas's face a breath from his own, his…friend?…leaning his elbows against the back of the couch and hovering over Liam's shoulder. He pressed a quick kiss to Liam's slightly parted lips before reaching over him to flip the page back, smiling at his 5-year-old, innocent self.

"I can't believe I used to be like that…" Nicholas sighed, shaking his head.

Liam scrutinized the photos; he felt Nicholas wanted him to notice something here. It was another birthday, with children darting in and out of the corners of every image, some tiny park with a merry-go-round and swings, and Nicholas sitting in a pedal car, running over some boy twice his age in one picture, looking quite pleased with himself.

That was the image that caught his eye most of all. Nicholas was seated in the toy car, a cowboy hat perched firmly on his head, as a young man with similar blond hair and deep blue eyes held the hat in place, looking directly into the lens, ignoring the boy beneath the car completely. Liam found himself admiring this man, who despite being at least twenty years older by now, was indisputably handsome. He must have been related to Nicholas…

"That's Derek," Liam suddenly murmured, feeling a cold fist clutch his heart. "But…I don't understand… He wasn't put on trial for another…fourteen years, roughly, I mean assuming our birthdays are set close together and your uncle doesn't have a twin or anything."

"There was trouble before that," Nicholas said simply, his tone indicating it was time to stop asking questions; whatever Nicholas wanted him to know, he'd tell him. "Derek made life hard for the people around him. My mother was sick often because of it. My parents…my family always looked picturesque from a distance, but once you were inside, it was rather lonesome."

Liam set the book aside and wrapped his arms around Nicholas's neck, pulling him over the back of the couch and on top of him, letting Nicholas's weight fall on him and push the air from his lungs. He ran his fingers along the side of Nicholas's head before cupping his face and drawing him into a slow kiss, teasing his tongue with gentle pressure before sliding into the depths of Nicholas's mouth, rolling his hips to accentuate his intentions.

Fingers wound around his hips, holding Liam firmly against the couch, as Nicholas wriggled between his legs and pushed one of his knees up, grinding his pelvis into his lover as he pulled urgently at the collar of Liam's shirt, sinking his teeth into the flesh where his neck met his collar. Liam groaned and writhed, clutching at Nicholas's back and wrapping a leg around his waist, twisting his head to draw his tongue along the shell of Nicholas's ear.

Nicholas stopped suddenly, his icy stare melting as he gazed intently into Liam's eyes, stroking his lover's face with the tips of his fingers.

"If we're going to do this," Nicholas murmured, indicating their complicated physical and emotional situation, "It can't just be sex. I'm putting a lot on the line for you, Liam, and I've found in relationships based entirely on physical connectivity, the other half tends to feel they can crush you with the threat of celibacy. So realize, if we do this, no matter who we give our bodies to, we cannot give away our hearts, not to anyone else. Do you understand?"

Liam regarded Nicholas for a moment, confused by the sentimentality he was suddenly spouting. When they'd first decided to continue sleeping together, Liam had felt quite used, as if Nicholas was only using him for stress relief, or he took a strange sort of pleasure out of fucking his partner after years of taking crap from him. He wanted this, he wanted intimacy and emotion and a connection with Nicholas when they made love, so that he felt less like a whore every time he allowed his lover to peel off his uniform and hold him down in that bed that really did hold two people when Liam was too exhausted to crawl back home for sleep before work.

This was the only way Nicholas could say 'I love you' with a straight face. By asking Liam for emotional exclusivity. By taking out rights of ownership on Liam's heart.

"You can go ahead and fuck all the girls you want," Liam grinned, pinching Nicholas's ass and making him squeak quite indignantly, "But I'll not want anyone else but you, Nicky."

Nicholas furrowed his brow, a concerned look marring his handsome face.

"Sorry, what?" Nicholas asked.

"I love you, you silly twat!" Liam exclaimed, straining upward to place a messy kiss on Nicholas's jaw. "I've said it before and I'll continue to say it until the day I die at this rate: I love you, Nicholas William Angel, no matter how much of a daftie you may turn out to be."

Nicholas tackled him, tickled him, kissed his neck and licked his ear, wrapping his arms around Liam's chest and breathing his scent deep into his lungs, burning it into his memory.

"No matter what," Nicholas murmured, before the smoke alarm went off and they realized Nicholas had left supper on the burner.

The man on the warrant was named Horace Skinner, but the man in the mug shot clipped to the file had the same dark blue eyes and blond hair, the same strong shoulders and uncanny family resemblance to Constable Angel, as Derek Seward.

"Nicky," Liam murmured to his partner in the early-morning quiet. The main floor was mostly empty, as there was a disciplinary meeting going on that Angel and Nash had been excused from in a series of conference rooms upstairs; someone had let live hedgehogs loose in the building, and they'd taken up residence and made a family in the heating system over Inspector Barclay's and Inspector Kincaid's offices.

If it hadn't been for that, Nicholas probably would have knocked Liam's head in; they had come up with strict extra-protocol regulations for themselves at work and in public, which included the exclusion of pet-names.

"You'd best have a look at this," Liam continued, his expression unreadable as he proffered the file.

Nicholas stood and came around his desk, snapping it from Liam's fingers and inspecting it briefly before recognizing the image on the front. He leaned against the front of Liam's desk, letting his free hand rest over Liam's fingers; it looked to passerby that he'd unintentionally leaned on Liam's hand, but the subtle motion of their fingers made it far more intimate and comforting.

"The name's wrong, but let's hope the address is right,"Nicholas said, his tone dark. "Shall we?"

Taking a patrol car in London meant battling taxis, cyclists, motor bikes, buses, tourists, and a myriad other stressful ninnies behind the wheel. Nicholas always insisted on driving, as the few times he'd allowed Liam behind the wheel, he'd nearly turned purple from cursing and aggrivation, and finally felt compelled to pull over _every_ person he saw committing a moving violation.

They were out for hours.

Their destination was in the city, at a hostel frequented by poor tourists and homeless pushers, and having a squad car outside its door was not an unusual sight. It was a ramshackle place, with a crumbling brick façade and shutters that were either nailed shut or falling off the building, and Nicholas even went so far as to grab a shred of newsprint from the sidewalk and use that to turn the nob, rather than risk contracting whatever diseases and filth were lying around the entry.

Inside wasn't as bad as they'd feared, but it was still disturbing: A wide, low room with hardly any light, several tables with broken chairs scattered throughout the crumbling expanse, and a bar with barely any liquor on the shelves at its back comprised the entire non-living contents of the room.

Along the walls, however, people slouched and talked in low voices, obviously sporting drug paraphernalia, Liam catching a glimpse of a lit fag or roach being passed between sullied fingers, but the heavy odor of pot in the air indicated the latter. There were sounds of coughing and sniffling, someone spat on the floor in the darkness, and everywhere there seemed to be eyes peering up at them.

"Stay close, Constable," Nicholas muttered under his breath, reaching back to blindly grab Liam's vest, his eyes remaining fixed toward the bar, an intent look on his face that would quail most petty criminals.

Liam hadn't realized he'd fallen a step or two behind until he felt Nicholas pulling him close. He felt a bit of warmth run through him, a strong comfort from his proximity alone lifting his spirits, and he returned the favor by patting Nicholas firmly on the back, continuing to survey the crowd. Liam had Nicholas's back.

"Excuse me, sir," Nicholas said, clearing his throat as he leaned his elbows on the bar, catching the barkeep's attention. Liam stood a foot away, his back to Nicholas, as he kept a close watch of the floor.

The barkeep,a large fellow with swarthy skin and black hair, slouched over and slammed a mottled glass down in front of the officer, which he'd been cleaning only a moment ago. This was a formality; the barkeep took money under the table from the Met, but to get the two officers amiable clearance into the upper floors, where the perp was most probably hiding, they had to make it look like they were there for their own crooked business, and not hauling someone's arse to jail.

A dark amber liquid suddenly appeared in the vessel, and Nicholas downed a swallow without hesitation, turning and offering the rest to Liam. He nearly choked, the liquor burning painfully at his chest, and as he let out an irrestrainable cough, several voices cackled in the shadows; they were in.

A door on the far side of the room suddenly opened a crack, the light spilling around its edges betraying its presence; with the door closed, the room was so dark that there appeared to be no passage there at all. The two officers crossed the room, the crowd of faceless ruffians suddenly dissipating as they were allowed passage, and made their way onto the stairs. Liam, reluctant after the first step, felt Nicholas's hand on his chest again, pulling him more forcefully, and as their eyes met, Nicholas gave him such a furious glare that he felt he'd been punched in the gut.

"Do not jeapordize us, Liam," Nicholas breathed, the words barely finding Liam's ears, but he understood.

They were solo right now for all intents and purposes. Their back up was half a block away, consisting of Rory, Adrian, Duncan, and five other officers they didn't know, two detectives and several MI5 agents. That half-block felt like a whole nation away right then.

At the top of the stairs they were met with a long hallway, doorways branching off in both directions all along its length. At the opposite end was a drop-down staircase that led to the attic, and a man was seated on a stool by the pull-cord that triggered its movements. He was the secretary.

"Kin ar help y'lads?" the man snarled, flashing a vicious smile as he glanced at them. He was busy throwing darts at rats, trying to stab them in the guts or catch them by their tails, and he'd become quite adept at it, if the array of vermin pinned to the opposite wall were any indication.

Liam swallowed hard. Nicholas walked forward with purpose, his stride strong and unwavering, stopping less than a meter from the seated man. He bent over slightly, gazing down at this vagabond with the express purpose of making him feel overpowered by body language alone.

"I need to see about a room," he said simply, some code Liam still didn't understand. He feared it required growing up in London, having family members in this sort of business, and a few other things that Liam was simultaneously glad he wasn't involved with.

The picture of Seward passed between the two men briefly, and the name "Skinner" was used. Even though they knew that wasn't his name, if they'd mentioned that fact, they'd be in trouble.

"S'in der up-stairs," the man replied, flashing them both another toothy grin, jerking his head toward the stairs so hard Liam thought he'd break his own neck.

"Mart," Nicholas called to him. That was his name out here, when he and Nicholas had to speak to one another casually as a front. His name was "Martin," Nicholas's was "Simon." Last names never came up. And Nicholas had managed to make him a ridiculous nick-name from it. The wanker…

"Right," he replied simply, nodding in turn as he started forward, following Nicholas as he ascended the rickety staircase.

At the top was a large, empty room similar to the first floor, but ropes strung between rafters provided cords to drape sheets over, creating cloth rooms. Much of the room was open, but half the expanse was obscured by drapes, setting Liam to twitching once more.

There was no one else there.

"Right," Nicholas said this time, trying to fight off his own concern.

"I've got a baaaad feeling," Liam murmured, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm, pinching his bottom lip with his free hand.

There was scuttling across the room, followed by a heavy click, and the sound of a man coughing as footsteps approached.

"This may be a trap," Nicholas barely had time to murmur, taking a step in front of Liam before someone came into view.

He was a tall, lean fellow with sunken eyes and a lantern jaw. Black hair hung crazily about his head and in his eyes, which burned like black coals, even in the half-dark room. He carried a shotgun in his right hand, letting the weapon swing freely toward the floor, and the palm of his left hand rested on the butt of a Bowie knife strapped to his hip.

"I hear you're looking for me," the man said calmly, giving them a crooked smile.

More shuffling behind the curtains told the officers that there were more men present, watching, staying out of sight so as to confuse the police about their numbers.

"Trap," Liam breathed against Nicholas's back, his friend having backed up into him upon realizing their situation.

"Are you Horace Skinner?" Nicholas asked forcefully, his voice carrying all the weight and authority of the Met, ignoring the fear in his posture.

"I may be," the man replied, his smile growing wider as he took a step toward them, "But you aren't looking for Horace Skinner…are you?"

No one spoke. Liam wanted to do something, anything, to relieve the tension: Punch this bloke's lights out, primarily.

"Well, I think you're looking for someone else," the man said cheekily, turning and walking slowly around the room.

Nicholas was sure this man was the real Skinner. Maybe Marlene had affixed the wrong picture? But then why had the man downstairs let them up, unless they were expecting this?

"What if I were to say I know where the man you're looking for _really_ is?" the other man teased, stopping by a dirty attic window and letting the filtered sunlight cast eerie shadows over his face.

"Horace Skinner," Nicholas said slowly, "We have a warrant for your arrest, executed as of May 28th, 2003. Should you-"

He'd begun to come at Skinner, each step bringing him more confidence, until the gun was suddenly leveled at his chest.

"Constable Angel, I believe?" Skinner said, cocking his head and stepping closer, so the muzel of the gun pressed into Nicholas's chest. The gunman's eyes flickered toward Liam before adding, "And I take it this is Constable Nash?"

"Who are you?" Liam asked, unable to contain himself.

Skinner dropped his aim, stepping around Nicholas, and walked casually over to Liam. He was almost a head taller, looking down at Liam without being condescending, but the look of contained fury in Liam's eyes did make him laugh.

"Your uncle applauds your efforts, Nicholas," Skinner said, still smiling at Liam, "But he asks that you stop barking after the wrong car. And I ask the same."

Now he did turn and look at Nicholas, who was clearly becoming more irritated with every passing moment. The presence of the gun was the only thing keeping any severe action from transpiring; both officers could handle knives without trouble, but guns were a tricky business.

"Derek Seward is a criminal and a murderer," Nicholas spat, "And I will be the one to bring him to justice. You would do well to distance yourself from those who would be willing to cast blame on you, Mr. Skinner, unless there is some criminal activity you'd like to incriminate yourself with?"

Now there was laughter from the far side of the room, and both Nicholas and Liam looked over into the shadows before shooting each other a worried glance.

"Constable Angel," Skinner said, his tone silky as he approached Nicholas, "I have an offer for you."

Liam's hand was on his receiver, ready to hit the silent call button at Nicholas's signal. His mouth was dry, his body strung out with adrenaline, but Nicholas wasn't looking at him anymore. There was no signal.

"And what might that be?" Nicholas replied, his voice gravelly and confrontational.

"I will let the two of you leave here today, unharmed," Skinner said, swinging the gun upward to rest it against his shoulder, "If you will stay out of our future dealings. All of them."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Nicholas replied coldly.

"Pity," Skinner tsked, and suddenly hands were on Nicholas and Liam, men they hadn't even noticed sneaking up on them wrestling them to the floor, holding them down.

Skinner laughed, kneeling beside Nicholas and tutting once more.

"I will give you a choice," Skinner said, tutting again, "Either you will agree to let us work in peace, and stop chasing your uncle all over London, or…"

"He's here?" Liam snapped, writhing angrily against his assailants. "Where the fuck is he? I'll break his sodding ne-"

A foot kicked him hard in the stomach as a hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, slamming his head against the floor. He groaned, the men letting him lie on the floor as they stood around him laughing, but when Liam lunged forward, grabbing one of the men and tackling him to the floor, things got ugly.

One man grabbed him by the back of the collar, yanking him off and tossing him backwards. Another caught him and wrapped an arm around his neck while a third kicked his legs out, trying to strangle him. One of the men, clearly overzealous, punched him hard in the face, making the back of his head strike and break the nose of the man holding him, so that he tumbled to the floor once more.

Distracted by the fight, Nicholas found it excessively easy to throw off the hands holding him down, kicking up and throwing punches rapidly, barreling forward to where he could see Liam deliver a spectacular kick to someone's jaw, probably severing the man's tongue from the sound of his screams.

"Oi!" Nicholas shouted as he came within Liam's range, the two officers recognizing each other and going back-to-back, a ring forming immediately around them.

A gunshot made the group freeze, Skinner parting the crowd to step into view, the gun still leaning against his shoulder. His knife was drawn, and as he stepped forward, he raised it menacingly in front of him.

"I will give you that choice again, Constable," Skinner said slowly, "Either meet our demands, or lose your life."

"Sod off," Nicholas managed to laugh, somewhat out of breath. He wasn't much for formalities in these sorts of situations.

"And what of your partner?" Skinner asked, his smile returning, "Will you sacrifice him?"

Nicholas's face fell. He couldn't…he couldn't ask Liam to die for this, and he couldn't guarantee his safety. Time began to slow down, the air grew thick, and the world started to go in and out of focus. It was his job, his responsibility, to uphold the law and catch the wicked, to maintain peace. No sacrifice was too great, no hardship too severe, as long as he got the job done. Yet for once, he was confronted with a sacrifice he was reluctant to make, a choice that didn't present its resolution as simply or methodically as all the others before it. The worst part was, he knew if it'd been anyone else in that room with him, any other person in the world at his back, he'd have taken the risk without a second thought, regardless of the consequences.

He had to catch this man. He had to stop him, to find out what was in his head, to make him give up Derek's location. He had to find Derek. He had to risk Liam.

He was trapped between love of the job and love of another, and for him to decide-

"No one's sacrificing anyone," Liam suddenly cut in, panting, "Because neither of us is going to die."

The door to the attic burst inward, and three heavily-armed MI5 officers clamored up through the opening, sending their assailants scattering into the darkness. Most likely there were a myriad escape routes concealed thereabouts, and catching any of the men seemed an impossibility, but at least Nicholas and Liam were alright.

At least there was that.

Nicholas no longer owned the leather couch, but he did still have the chair, and the bed was the same as it'd been the first time Liam had seen it.

Lying on the bed, the only light coming from the television across the room, the two watched footage of their day play on one of the twenty-four-hour news networks. There was excessive footage of the building's exterior, as the press weren't allowed past the police line, and then an interview with Liam, talking about what they'd seen.

Nicholas grabbed the remote and turned the volume off, sighing heavily as he felt Liam burrow against his side.

"All that fucking fan mail you get, and you wonder where it comes from," Nicholas joked, playing with the collar of Liam's T-shirt. "I swear, some of your little fan girls think they love you more than I do."

"Hey, Nicky?" Liam asked sleepily, nuzzling the hand that was still worrying his shirt, "Would you…what if you'd had to choose today?"

Nicholas stopped his fretting, sighing heavily as he felt Liam go slightly rigid. The job or his lover? Liam knew it was a choice with heavy consequences, for both of them, and answering even now with the danger past might change their chemistry. But Nicholas wouldn't lie to him.

"I don't really know," Nicholas murmured. "I guess…I would do anything to keep you safe, babe, but it's the job first. I mean, no, not if you would get hurt, of course not, even though…It's…it's hard to explain."

Liam rolled over on his stomach and pulled himself toward the head of the bed, lying down with his face level with Nicholas's. He knew what Nicholas was talking about, yes. Despite his outward demeanor, a lot of what Nicholas had said to him over the years had worked into his pscyhe; Job first, then others, then self. Nicholas wasn't saying that he would choose the job over Liam, he was choosing both, but giving safety the priority. He knew in his heart that Nicholas would have defied Horace, even with a gun pointed at him.

The question was, would he continue to push if the gun were pointed at Liam instead? And would Liam do the same if the situation were reversed?

"I understand," Liam replied, resting his head on the pillow beside Nicholas, wrapping his arms around Nicholas's chest as his lover rolled on top of him, pressing him down into the mattress, pulling Liam's shirt over his head and flinging it aside.

"I love you," Nicholas breathed against Liam's mouth, "And I always will, Liam."

"No matter what," Liam pledged.

They didn't close the curtains that night. If people wanted to look up and see them, touching and kissing and moaning and sweating, then that was their business. They weren't going to hide it anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

A lone man jogged through the streets of London, winding through the early-morning traffic, his strides easy and sure as he took his time.

Liam didn't push himself these days, not anymore, not since he'd learned where his job was taking him: A Sergeant's position, but at a desk. Off the streets. Away from Nicholas. It sounded like a nightmare more than anything else, but he couldn't appeal the decision without blowing their cover on so many levels.

The trail on Derek Seward had grown cold since their close encounter with Horace Skinner two years prior, and all relations with the London underground had been strained as well, to say the least. On top of that, Liam's public popularity had pushed him away from Nicholas, who was viewed as superior in the field but less marketable, and the Met was suddenly in need of a new PR rep.

Liam fit the bill perfectly. Plus, Evan Barclay, who'd since been promoted to Inspector, wanted to keep Liam close. He'd taken to mentoring Nash toward his Sergeantship, at times even denying his requests to go out on patrol with Nicholas. Their private lives became more stressful as Nicholas picked up a new girlfriend to keep suspicions low, and Liam went out partying with his friends on the weekends, the two of them forced to squeeze in a quick kiss or a heated look behind closed doors, sometimes even at work, which had almost gotten them caught twice already.

And then there was the internship problem…

Two of the new interns, finishing school kids on the fast-track to the precinct, had just been accepted at Constabulary positions, and Liam was expected to tutor one of them almost immediately. That would leave him no free time whatsoever for Nick, which didn't matter half the time, as Nicholas's new girlfriend was all over him like a bad sun burn.

Thinking about sun burns all over Nicholas didn't help his mood that morning. Nor did running into Nicholas ten minutes later at the front door, both of them just finishing their runs.

"G'morning, Nick," Liam panted, catching his breath as they leaned against the wall outside. "How's things with…um…Paula?"

"Paulette," Nicholas corrected, shooting him a quick look before rolling his eyes.

The two of them shared a terse laugh before Nicholas pushed off the wall, motioning for Liam to follow. After they were half a block away, Nicholas began to talk, his voice barely above a whisper, his tone level.

"They're taking the case," Nicholas said, hearing Liam gasp beside him, "And I doubt it's coincidental."

"Putting me on the desk and taking the case," Liam sighed. "It does sound like a plot, doesn't it?"

"Next thing you know, people will start to disappear," Nicholas said, barely allowing a smile.

"You better watch out, then," Liam replied, his voice a bit too urgent, "And me too, I suppose, if they're really looking to bury this."

"It's not that," Nicholas interrupted, shaking his head imperceptibly. "It's gone to the next level. National shite, MI5, something about terrorism in the UK, related to Al Qaeda possibly. It doesn't sound like Derek at all, but then again it's been almost ten years since I saw him last."

Without thinking, Liam allowed his fingers to brush against Nicholas's between them, looking pointedly at the ground as Nicholas pretended to not notice the contact.

"I'm still here," Liam murmured, feeling Nicholas tense his fingers around Liam's. "I've just moved a little, that's all. But I'm still here, Nick."

"I know," Nicholas replied with a sigh, "But it's not the same."

"I'll make sure you're not forced with another partner if you want," Liam offered hurriedly. They both knew what he really meant: Nobody could replace Liam, and if they tried, it'd be disastrous.

"You're the one who really deserves this," Liam said after another pregnant moment of silence. "I mean, you've worked harder, and accomplished more, and everyone knows you're the better officer-"

"Liam, we're not having this conversation again," Nicholas said, raising his voice a little, so that one or two passerby did turn and look. Nicholas glanced around warily before continuing, "We both know that you've done a bang-up job, Liam. If I'd been more of a brown-noser -- And I'm not saying you are, babe -- Then I'd have gotten a position, maybe, yeah. But people _like_ you, and I'm not concerned with making friends, so in that respect, you do deserve it more. You've a more rounded portfolio than I do."

They were quiet again as they turned off the main street and strolled pointlessly around, looking for a nonexistent secluded spot, for perhaps one last rendezvous before their lives changed irrevocably. In a blind spot between a metal barrier and a high stone wall, Nicholas pinned Liam to the wall and melded their lips together, silencing their cries and brushing away tears, their bodies flush together as they enjoyed their last few moments as partners, and in more senses of the term than anyone knew.

"Congratulations, Sergeant," Evan smiled, clapping Liam on the shoulder.

They were dressed in full uniform, awaiting the official ceremony and appointment in the conference hall upstairs, standing in the main lobby after a short public press meeting. A large portion of the Met staff had come out to wish him well, and though he scoured the crowd, he didn't see Nicholas anywhere.

He pressed thoughtfully at his breast bone; an intriguingly-shaped silver key hung on a chain, concealed beneath his uniform, that Nicholas had given him that morning.

_"It was my mum's," Nicholas murmurs, reaching around Liam's neck to fasten the clasp. He fiddles with the collar of Liam's shirt, slipping the key and chain beneath his lover's jumper. "It means my door is always open to you. My hea- I'll always be here for you, even if…no matter what."_

_Liam rubs the key through his shirt; it's a beautiful charm, a heartfelt memento, and he can't help but start to cry again._

_"We can't be…after this," Liam infers, looking longingly into Nicholas's eyes, willing this to just be a nightmare. "We'll never have what we had, will we?"_

_Nicholas swallows hard, shifting uncomfortably, and when he meets Liam's gaze again, his eyes are going cold. Reaching up, he cups Liam's cheek gently for the last time. Their lips meet briefly, bitterly, and this time they both pull away._

_"We never had anything," Nicholas whispers._

_"No," Liam affirms, getting the drift as he turns away, "I guess not."_

_They should walk away now, they mean to, need to. They have to walk to the station and pretend they're coworkers and nothing more and never mean anything more to one another again. Tense, coy, witty with one another, but nothing more._

_Nicholas's hand moves of its own accord, and when Liam turns to rebuke him for the inappropriate contact, they both have tears in their eyes._

_"I love you," Nicholas breaths. "I lo-"_

_Liam crashes against him, hands clinging desperately to Nicholas's shoulders, feeling his lover's arms around his waist, their mouths working fiercely against one another, suffocating their sobs with the desperation of the kiss._

_"I know. I know, I love you, Nicky-" Liam whispers between hiccoughs and kisses. "No matter what."_

_"We can't," Nicholas finishes, his frame shuddering as he exhales. He sniffles, wipes angrily at his tears, and places his open palm on Liam's chest, covering the spot where the key rests against Liam's skin. "But we can remember."_

"Are you feeling alright, Liam?" Evan asked, looking inquisitively at Liam, whose face was contorted in a heavy grimace.

"Oh…oh, yes, thanks, I'm fine," Liam replied, blinking rapidly and forcing a smile. "Bit of a stomach ache, I'm afraid. Nerves, you know."

"_You've no blody fucking clue,"_ Liam thought bitterly. "_Or else you'd have left me with Nick. Irksome prat…_"

"Ah, Sergeant Nash!" Chief Inspector Kincaid called suddenly, appearing out of the blue and clapping Liam on the shoulder. "Ready for your big moment?"

"Umm…yes, Chief Inspector," Liam said nervously, shying away from Kincaid as the senior officer pressed his hand heavily against Liam's arm.

"Please, call me Kenneth," the Chief smiled, winking at him. "You know, Sergeant, you should come to dinner this weekend. My wife is a _terrific_ cook, and I'd be delighted to introduce you to my daughter."

"Th-thank you, sir- I mean, Kenneth, sir," Liam stuttered, the Chief laughing dryly before turning to address someone among the crowd.

"Don't mind Kenneth," Evan said, supplying Liam with a line of conversation. "He's been trying to show off his daughter ever since she got accepted at MI5. She's quite attractive, but he'd never let any man take her; one of six children and the only girl. She's cursed, really. Anyway, Liam, you'd do well to collect your thoughts. What's eating you, anyway?"

"FIRE!" shouted a familiar, high-pitched voice with a Scottish accent, before a water balloon collided with the back of Evan's head.

Duncan and Adrian came skidding into the crowd, followed closely by Kels and Rory, the four of them pelting the room with watery projectiles, several other Constables whipping out similar weapons and turning on their fellows. General, good-natured chaos erupted, silly laughter echoing against the high metallic ceiling.

"Congratulations, Sergeant!" Kels cheered, trapping Liam's head and giving him a noogy.

"Fecking cheat!" Duncan giggled, "Should've gone te' Adrian or me-self, y'know, mate. Ye're not te' make too much of yourself, or we'll jus' have te' knock ye'down a bit, yeah?"

"Oi, Duncan, sod off!" Adrian laughed, grabbing Duncan around the waist and squeezing him, tickling him until Duncan cried.

Liam felt a pang of jealousy; it was a thinly-veiled secret, the relationship between Adrian and Duncan, the two Constables content to stay as such or else be promoted together. They were devoted to one another. He and Nicholas, though…No matter how much he said he loved him, Nicholas couldn't let go of the job enough to really love Liam, and while Liam had always said he was fine with it, and he understood Nicholas had loved him more than anyone else previously, he didn't love him _enough_.

It wasn't enough. And Liam didn't want to wait forever for half a love that would never be whole.

"Sergeant Nash," Constable Angel acknowledged, passing Liam in the locker room two weeks later.

"Constable," Liam responded curtly, yanking his jumper over his head and tossing it into his locker. He wasn't used to all this sitting, and found himself going for runs during his lunch break instead of taking meals with the senior officers as Evan had requested.

"You seem to be taking well to your new position, if I may say, sir," Angel commented, his eyes fixed dead ahead as he reached into his own locker for a dark blue T-shirt.

Liam shot him a surreptitious glare; he'd become his old self, cold and distant, in a matter of days, and Liam was quickly seeing what it was that made the other officers despise him so. He quickly decided he wasn't going to let Nicholas get to him, though, and made his move accordingly.

"You know, _Constable_," Liam said silkily, taking a page out of Evan's book; he'd actually learned quite a good deal of useful tricks from the Inspector during their short time together. He slid across the locker room, nearly on top of Nicholas before the other officer could react. Their bodies were close, both of them topless, but while Nicholas seemed totally taken off-guard, Liam had perfect mastery over his actions and knew every move he was about to make.

He leaned against the locker beside Nicholas's, shamelessly looking Nicholas up and down, recognizing the look in Nicholas's eyes from months before. Bedroom eyes, he'd joked back then. His eyes were the most expressive part of his body, and no matter how good Nicholas got at controlling the rest of his body, those gorgeous eyes of his would always give him away. Now they were telling him how much Nicholas still wanted him, the layers he'd built quickly over the last two weeks proving to be weak and flimsy, falling away readily at the first advance.

Liam smirked.

"I'd say I'm taking to it perfectly," Liam replied, waggling his eyebrows before clapping Nicholas amiably on the shoulder and turning away.

He'd jerk Nicholas along. But that was all.

A hand was on his arm unexpectedly, yanking him back, spinning him around, slamming him against the cold metallic bank of lockers. Nicholas glared ferociously down at him, his grip tightening until Liam was sure he'd have a perfect set of Nicholas's prints left on his arm for CID to identify his killer with.

"What-the-FUCK??!?" Nicholas spat, giving Liam a quick shake that made his head slam against the lockers. "What the FUCK are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Constable," Liam smiled condescendingly, trying to shake Nicholas's grip as he tried to rub the back of his head.

"Don't fuck around with me, _Sergeant_," Nicholas growled. A look of exhaustion passed over Nicholas's face, and a moment later, he shoved Liam away from him, turned away, grabbed his shirt from where it had fallen to the floor.

"…M'sorry," Liam whispered, shaken to the core. He'd been coy with Nicholas before, nearly every day really, but this was the first time he'd carried it into a one-on-one setting. Apparently, he'd need to eliminate such encounters, even if it meant staying later to get the locker room to himself.

He went back to his locker, shoving the last of his things inside and grabbing for his shirt and bag. Tossing the napsack on the bench, he was about to pull the jumper over his head when a familiar hand caught his arm again.

Whipping his head around, he saw Nicholas standing calmly beside him, a sneaky grin on his face that he'd not seen for some time.

"You're still wearing it," Nicholas murmured, his eyes flicking to Liam's chest.

The key still hung on its silver chain around Liam's neck. He actually never took it off, save when he showered. He didn't want to tarnish it, after all.

"I intend to keep wearing it," Liam replied, refusing to meet Nicholas's eyes. "If it's all the same to you, Constable-"

"Nicholas," Nicholas cut him off.

Their eyes met, Liam's filled with confusion and surprise, Nicholas's warm and reserved. They stood in silence, regarding one another calmly, letting the distant sounds of the station fill the void.

"It _is_ my name, after all…_Liam…_" Nicholas finally said softly, his smile growing for a moment.

"Alright, then," Liam responded, grinning in return. "That's fine…Nicholas."

"What's she like?" Liam asked. Nearly four months since his promotion, he and Nicholas were sitting in the cafeteria with Rory and Duncan, the four of them having randomly met in the queue, preferring to dodge the rain and tolerate the horrible food on-site.

"She's a CSI," Nicholas replied, popping a cherry tomato in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

"I imagine she has breasts?" Duncan inquired, earning a jab in the ribs from Rory.

"_Yes, _Bathe, she does," Nicholas sighed, rolling his eyes in exasperation, though somewhat in jest as well.

"Like Duncan would know anything about that," Rory added, Nicholas and Liam sniggering as Duncan made a face and pretended to cop a feel off Stetson. Rory gave an indignant squeak, pretending to enjoy it, before shoving Duncan away, much to everyone's amusement.

"We're actually living together now," Nicholas divulged, a bit more open than usual. Sometimes he was receptive to company, and today was a particularly good day for him; the weather was horrible, and most of the hard-core criminals seemed to be taking a break, so everything was going smoothly.

"So are you at your place or Janine's now?" Liam asked. He remembered Nicholas's apartment quite well, having lived in it for a time himself, and felt an odd pang in his gut at the thought of a woman sharing that bed…

"Oh no, her place was much better," Nicholas replied hastily. He recognized the look on Liam's face, because he felt it vaguely mirrored in his own heart. That was why he'd gotten rid of the bed, telling Janine the upstairs neighbors had flooded their bathroom and ruined his mattress, and also why it seemed such a better idea for him to go there as opposed to the other way around.

Having her at his place would open too many wounds.

A loud, urgent chirping cut into the conversation, and Nicholas excused himself quickly, leaving his half-eaten lunch behind; when you got a call, you had no choice but to respond.

"And how're things coming with you these days, Sergeant?" Rory asked, tossing one of Nicholas's forgotten tomatoes at Liam's head.

"Oh, fairly well," Liam replied cheerfully, catching the projectile and popping it in his mouth. "Grace and I are going on holiday with her family next month. Japan of all places, can you believe it? She's even got me learning Japanese, just for the trip!"

"Have you told Nicholas yet?" Duncan asked, peering thoughtfully at Liam through his long eyelashes.

Liam swallowed a mouthful of soup too quickly, burning his throat. He'd confided in Duncan once, right around the break-up, knowing the officer would be understanding at least. He'd been better than that, and since then they'd been nearly inseparable, especially with Adrian's promotion upcoming and Duncan desperate for a loophole to keep the two of them together. That at least was something Liam could manage.

"No, he doesn't," Liam grumbled, coughing fitfully into his napkin. "I don't see why he should, either."

"S'true," Rory pointed out. "I mean, we practically have to _drag_ details on Janine out of him. Although, my friend Bob Wallace says he knows her, too. I'm meeting him for drinks tomorrow night at Blackfriar's, so if you lads are interested, he might bring her along."

"God knows Nicholas will never be there," Duncan joked. "I've never known anyone to have such an aversion to the drink."

Liam grinned half-heartedly as the other two had a good laugh. There was no need for him to tell them about Nicholas's past, his fears, his convictions and morals that he'd spilled nervously to Liam until familiarity and comfort loosed a torrent that neither of them could handle. They'd shared everything it seemed, heart and soul, so while Liam could have told Rory and Duncan all sorts of stories and anecdotes as to how and why Nicholas came to feel so about drinking, he instead chose to revel in the memory of his own ascertaining.

He liked to remember Nicholas that way, not as the man who sat ceremony in his office for reviews now and again, and tolerated his presence at best from time to time. He chose to remember him as Nick, propped up in bed with a book open on his chest, surrounded by downy-soft, white sheets, exuding warmth and strength that always made Liam feel so at peace, curled against him in sleep.

Now there was Grace, though, blonde and beautiful and ever so clever. She was cold and stoic on the streets, every bit as professional and hard-nosed as Nicholas used to be, but when she met him at the door to the apartment they also had only begun to share, she was warmth and laughter and a thousand kinds of happiness Liam had somehow forgotten since Nicholas left. Kenneth had told him once that he was the only one who could make her laugh.

Yet he'd been careful to never let her meet Nicholas. He had a funny feeling, a niggling fear, really, that the two of them would click, and he couldn't stand the idea of losing a lover to one he'd already lost.

He loved her too much to let her go.

"I'll kill him."

"Liam…"

"No, I mean it!"

"Liam, calm down. _Sit_ down, you're making my head ache with all this damned pacing. _SIT_!"

He fell heavily onto the couch beside Grace, her hand immediately grabbing his off the cushion between them, her thumb rubbing his knuckles soothingly.

"When did he-"

"He doesn't know me," Grace interrupted. "He wanted the case, and I backed Audrey up. He doesn't know you and I…"

Grace and her partner, Audrey DeLane, were the MI5 team awarded the Seward case. Funny how things seemed to fall in place for Liam. It was like he was chasing the case, or it was chasing him, from one muddled relationship to another.

Except Nicholas had encountered Audrey, and thereby Grace. Purposely. In order to pick a fight over her capability to handle the case efficiently. To her credit, she'd socked him in the jaw, leaving a faint gray-green mark, which had lead nearly half the staff at the station to inquire about his arrests for the day.

When everyone learned he'd been hit by a girl, it was the end of his machismo for a while, to say the least.

"Why're you taking this so seriously?" Grace asked, inching closer and placing a comforting hand against Liam's cheek.

Sighing, he turned his face and kissed her palm, before taking both her hands in his.

"Babe, there's something you need to know…about Nicholas and I…"

Christmas came, the holidays flew by, and soon it was spring again. Six months had come and gone since Liam's promotion, and he and Grace were finally settled in their apartment. Janine and Nicholas were also doing well, and while Nicholas seemed less than happy at times, he was as stable as could be expected for him. Adrian and Duncan remained partners both professionally and privately, despite their different rankings, thanks to some heavy footwork on Liam's part; it helped he was dating Kenneth's daughter, a fact which he was still hiding from Nicholas.

From time to time, though, Nicholas and Liam would find themselves alone together, and they would feel compelled to talk. Nicholas would inevitably ask about the necklace, and Liam would always oblige him with a peek.

Sometimes it would be more than that. Sometimes they would spend the night somewhere. Together.

No matter what, though, they always stayed professional at work. Liam would play at him, dropping hints and jerking him along, and Nicholas would remain as exasperated and blasé toward him as possible. He was close with all his other friends, Kels and Duncan and Adrian and Rory and Wakeman, and the lot of them would on occasion encourage some socializing out of Nicholas. They put on a show, whether the world caught on or not.

There was word of terrorist cells in England, hidden out in the Shire counties, making their way to power in a way that the centralized government and law-enforcement agencies would never be able to catch until it was too late. They'd begun outsourcing people and jobs, hoping a wider coverage base would lead to early detection, but so far there hadn't been any hits, and tensions were on the rise.

Tensions that Nicholas and Liam could only relieve together.

Janine had no clue, but Grace was aware, and though she was unhappy about it, she tolerated it for Liam's sake. She told him she loved him, and that one day she hoped she'd be enough. When she said things like that, Liam would understand once again how he'd felt when Nicholas went to women while they were together, and for a time he would hate Nicholas all over again. For a time, Grace would be enough.

And that was really all he wanted.

Yet he'd always end up back at their appointed place, a little bar hidden from the rest of the world, sheltered in anonymity, and from there to a frequently-vacant flat belonging to one of Nicholas's acquaintances who spent most of his time globetrotting.

If it meant leading two or three lives, he could do that. If it meant tearing himself apart to feel whole again, he could do that, too. And if it meant having one perfect love born of hate and pain and murder, he would damn well learn to live with that, too.


End file.
